


How You Remind Me

by truthseeker97



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anger, Angst, Anorexia, Anxiety, Bulimia, Caring Mycroft, Caring Sherlock, Case Fic, Cutting, Dark, Death, Depression, Eating Disorders, Fluff, Graphic Self Harm, Mental Health Issues, Murder, Mycroft is Sweet, Panic Attacks, Reichenbach Fall, Self-Harm, Sherlock is actually sweet, Suffering, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Torture, Trauma, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-10-01 03:21:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 59
Words: 141,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10179518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truthseeker97/pseuds/truthseeker97
Summary: A new game of murder is played. A teenage girl, orphaned, comes to live with Sherlock and John. When her life gets put in danger as she gets involved with the game, can Sherlock save her and find the killer? Contains self harm, eating disorders, and suicidal thoughts. And then... The Reichenbach Fall comes to play...





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Chapter 1

Author's note- So I'm becoming obsessed with Sherlock from the BBC so I thought I'd write my own fanfictions on it! Please leave a review if you liked it or loved it!

There will be self harm in this, and maybe eating disorders and that sort of thing, just to warn you.

Italics are thoughts.

Disclaimer- I don't own Sherlock, but I own the storyline and Lucy. Let's say Lucy is fifteen in this shall we? Okay then! On with the show!

Chapter 1- A new game

"I'm bored." He moaned. A moment's silence. "I'm bored." Another silence.

Sherlock sat on the armchair with his elbows on his knees and his hands steepled as they usually were when he was thinking. But right now he wasn't thinking about much, and that bored him. He had no new cases to work on as anyone who came to him and John seemed absolutely dull, and it would be a waste of time to work on dull cases.

"John can I borrow your laptop?" He said. Silence. Sherlock huffed in annoyance. John had gone out and had been out for exactly thirty seven minutes- apparently he had gone to get some shopping as they were out of milk and therefore unable to make tea. And not being able to make tea was sacrilege. Why had he been gone for so long? Sherlock closed his eyes and tried to solve this small puzzle, but it was pointless. Inevitably so, as he knew full well that John took his debit card without knowing the pin, so he was therefore unable to use it to pay for what little he needed to buy; so he then either went outside feeling embarrassed and withdrew some money or just decided to go back home. Most likely he had gotten some more money out otherwise he would have returned ages ago. He didn't have any money in his wallet as he wouldn't have otherwise asked to borrow Sherlock's debit card, also he spent his money on taking his girlfriend out the other day whom proceeded to dump him the next day for another man, ooh harsh. Sherlock groaned aloud, see? Now he was trying to make a big thing out of a shopping trip that was taking too long. But he would do anything to cure his boredom. He would even shoot his wall if it meant he would have something to do, but Mrs Hudson forbade it. Sherlock actually wanted to have a look on John's laptop to see if there was anything to write about on his website or just to look at any unsolved crimes that may need his assistance. Yes, Sherlock was undeniably bored.

A subtle squeak of a door swinging open signalled John's arrival.

"Sherlock," He began as he dumped the small bag of items on the kitchen table, "You never..."

"I never told you my pin number, yes I know John, I guessed that seconds after you left." Sherlock interrupted. John stood there, staring at his flatmate.

"You knew... and you couldn't be bothered to ring me?" John said incredulously.

"My mobile is on the table there, I couldn't be bothered to go get it." Sherlock muttered.

"You are unbelievable." John shook his head as he started to make himself and Sherlock a hot drink.

An hour or so later, Sherlock's mobile started to buzz on the table. He glanced down at it, seeming to debate in his head whether or not to answer it. The screen said that it was Lestrade who was calling. With great effort, Sherlock picked it up and answered.

"Lestrade, got anything fun?"

"As a matter of fact Sherlock, I could do with you coming down and having a look at a crime scene for us." The voice on the other end answered. Sherlock was silent, debating whether or not it was worth his time. Lestrade continued to fill the consulting detective in: "There's been a murder; a man killed in his apartment no more than a couple of hours ago. No-one heard anything; no-one saw anything... But we want you to have a look around the place. So far, we have nothing."

"The police really are clueless aren't they? Is Anderson there?"

"What would it matter if he is?" Lestrade sounded confused.

"His presence annoys me."

"Just come Sherlock."

After hanging up, John looked at his friend.

"Are you going?"

"Might as well."

"Might as well?" John repeated.

"I'm bored, I have nothing else to do and you're coming with me."

They were clueless; utterly clueless. It was most likely due to the fact that Anderson was there, distracting everyone from living their own lives and in effect, lowering the IQ of the whole of London. So far they had barely any clues; the only thing they found was a rather curious set of scratch marks that formed a word on the wallpaper. Sherlock could now see why they were anxious for him to take a look around. The word on the wallpaper read 'Sherlock.' Well aren't I popular, Sherlock thought sarcastically as he stared at it with a blank face.

"Any idea why they scratched your name on the wall?" Asked John, who was a little shocked at the sight.

"They obviously wanted me." The detective muttered, then he spoke louder, "But the killer didn't write it himself."

"What do you mean?" Lestrade queried, frowning as he and the others on the crime scene turned to stare at him. Sherlock rolled his eyes in annoyance. Wasn't it obvious?

"The man's fingernails," he said impatiently, "Look!" They followed his orders, "There are flakes from the wallpaper under his fingernails, also, if you haven't already noticed- he is right handed."

"And how the bloody hell do you know he's right handed?" Anderson exclaimed. Sherlock huffed and glared at his idiocy.

"There is more wallpaper under his right hand's nails than there are on his left. Also, you can see that his nails on his right hand are shorter from where he scratched away to make the words."

"Then why is there wallpaper under his left hand?" Anderson narrowed his eyes. Sherlock turned to glare at him again, this was really wasting his time and to be honest, which hand he wrote with was of no importance.

"For goodness sake Anderson you really are stupid aren't you?"

"Sherlock," John warned.

"He has paper under his left hand from where he finished scratching with his left. His nails are too short on the right to scratch away anymore and I suspect he was held at gunpoint and forced to do this, so rather than get a knife he simply switched hands- which would also explain why the last three letters are shakier than the rest." Sherlock breathed in and looked on in amusement at the idiot in front of him. "Can you leave now Anderson." It was an order, not a question.

"Why?" He said angrily, "You are so up yourself Sherlock."

"I need to concentrate and you are annoying me and distracting everyone in the room from doing their jobs. So leave." The corners of the detective's mouth lifted slightly when Lestrade led the idiot out of the room.

Afterwards, Sherlock examined the dead man's body for clues to how he died. There were cuts all up his arms, all of which were fresh. A particularly deep one went across his neck and wrists where the main veins and arteries lie.

"A self harmer?" John said.

"No." Sherlock muttered, he frowned and looked closer.

"How do you know?"

"It doesn't seem right; there are no scars, no older cuts." Sherlock sighed, "He was killed."

"Do you have the evidence for that?" Lestrade questioned calmly.

"No," Sherlock said again. Then he started muttering, just loud enough so that they could hear him, "This killer is clever, very clever. He's left no traces whatsoever of him ever being here. No evidence to support what I say. We are dealing with someone who has experience in knowing how to pull something off with no-one noticing, and has the experience to make sure he remains completely unknown. All we have to go by is the fact that he wanted me. He made the victim scratch out my name on the wall. We also know he used a knife to kill the victim."

"But what if the victim committed suicide?" Lestrade said.

"He didn't. It doesn't explain why he would write my name. He hasn't left a note." Sherlock murmured.

"Everything points to that conclusion though," Lestrade sighed, "Even the knife was found in his hand, we are getting fingerprint analysis later. But there is nothing to really prove otherwise."

"But it wasn't a suicide!" Sherlock told him firmly.

"Well, we will have to see if it happens again. Next time there may be more evidence." Lestrade shrugged.

Sherlock was sitting in his chair back at 221b Baker Street the next day. John was due to return from his work at the surgery any time now. For most of the day, Sherlock had been pondering over the murder. Nothing added up. None of it made sense. And it frustrated him to know that there was no way yet of proving his point. He knew it wasn't a suicide, he knew it was murder. But he wasn't sure how. He was just anxiously awaiting the next murder to take place. Not a moment later, Sherlock could hear footsteps from downstairs. He paused, listening to the conversation. Mrs Hudson was talking to John, but there was someone else. A girl. She sounded young- no older than fifteen maybe. He frowned in confusion and listened, wondering what John was doing bringing a young teenager home.

"Poor thing," Mrs Hudson said motherly.

"So that's why we didn't want her staying on the streets." John murmured, "Too dangerous. She came into the surgery today, not really sure what to say or how to explain her situation." He seemed to be talking very gently, as the girl was with him and he apparently didn't want to upset her. "We knew her family had... passed away, but we didn't realise she was sleeping rough until she came in today. She had gotten badly beaten by a stranger last night who took her phone; he left bruises on her stomach. He had a knife and slashed at her stomach as well, not too deeply mind, but I made sure it was clean."

"Oh sweetie," Mrs Hudson said sympathetically. John carried on talking but in a much quieter voice, Sherlock was unable to hear what was being said. He caught a few words here and there though:

"Can't leave her... too dangerous... has no-one... just for a while..." Sherlock frowned, unsure what to make of the situation.

"What about Sherlock?" He suddenly heard his name being mentioned by his landlady.

"I've told her about him," John said with a tiny smile in his voice, "I just hope he won't be rude or... his usual self to her." Sherlock rolled his eyes with indignation, "I hope he won't mind, if he really isn't happy with it then we will sort something out." A pause in which he turned to the girl, "There's no need to worry though." He said gently.

"Thank you," Sherlock heard the girl murmur quietly, "I'm so sorry for all of this... you shouldn't be doing this..."

"Hey, it was me who suggested and made you do it, so don't blame yourself." John reassured her, "Shall we go face Mr Holmes?" There was a hint of a joking smile in his voice.

"Okay..." The girl sounded... scared? Nervous? Of him? Sherlock wondered what on earth John told her about him. "Nice to have met you Mrs Hudson, thank you for this."

Sherlock turned to look at the door expectantly. The footsteps on the stair case sounded closer and closer. John opened the door, glancing back to smile encouragingly at the youngster. She stepped into the room, her step was measured and cautious and she seemed extremely nervous and anxious and unsure of everything. It seemed to have happened quickly for her and she was scared; but obviously so, after all, she had just entered a house with two complete strangers one of which being a doctor, the other a self proclaimed highly functioning sociopath. But the girl was young, and Sherlock knew that she was definitely around the age of fifteen. Her dark brown hair hung a little past her shoulders and her green eyes were clouded with worry. It was a shame, she was pretty. Sherlock surprised even himself by thinking that... but she was. As her eyes wandered around the apartment Sherlock studied her. She was around five foot five, and incredibly slim with long sleeved clothes that were in a fairly good condition. On her back she carried a backpack. As her eyes met his, he saw the worry and scaredness flare up again, and he calmed his usually intensive gaze. He knew she had been through alot- that much was obvious. And the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her even further. After all, she seemed like a lovely girl- but he would have to get to know her more first. He mentally slapped himself, why was he feeling all of this? Feeling... sympathy for her? It was unheard of in the world of Sherlock Holmes. But he felt different looking at her- not in a weird way of course. He couldn't put a finger on it; and he didn't like that fact. But the girl smiled tentatively at him- it was a small smile, one that only just reached her eyes as she made an effort to be friendly and polite. Sherlock returned it with a small one of his own which immediately seemed to reassure the teenager just slightly.

"Sherlock..." John started to speak.

"Yes John I already know, I heard most of what was said downstairs." Sherlock interrupted, "She is a teenager of age fifteen who is orphaned. She used to live on the street but got attacked last night and badly hurt; she came to you at the surgery where you proceeded to attend to her stomach. Unable to leave her to fend for herself again you decided to take her back here in the hopes that she could stay for a while. Or stay for as long as I want her to." Sherlock smirked; the girl looked at him in wonder. "But you seem scared," He turned to the teen, "Scared of me perhaps? I'm not sure what John told you, but apparently he didn't exactly paint a pretty picture of happiness and smiles and normality. You aren't expecting to really stay as neither of you are sure whether I would even be bothered with wanting a teenager here."

"Sherlock..." John said in warning.

"Relax John," Sherlock rolled his eyes. With great effort, Sherlock stood up and held his hand out to the teenager.

"Sherlock Holmes," he said with the famous Sherlock smirk.

"Lucy Patterson," she said as she grasped his hand and shook it.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Lucy listened to John in fascination as he recounted stories to her of his time with Sherlock and the many cases they had solved. The teenager found it all very interesting and was absolutely awe-struck at how intelligent Sherlock was to be able to deduce so many things with one look. Throughout, Sherlock had been paying close attention to Lucy. Something drew him to her, and he wasn't really sure why- maybe she was intelligent? But there was something about her that Sherlock liked, and Sherlock didn't 'like' people easily. In fact, the consulting detective only really considered himself to have a couple of friends. Obviously John was his best friend, but he also liked Mrs Hudson and Molly a great deal; but even so, it had taken a while to warm to them for him to actually class them as friends rather than just people he knew. Looking at the fifteen year old again, he frowned; she live on the street yet her clothes were extremely well looked after- and she smelt good (presumably she got to shower at those special places for the homeless.) Actually, he noticed, her clothes looked virtually brand new and her large bag (no doubtedly filled with her belongings) was in pretty good nick as well. Frowning he began to deduce in his mind.

_Well her clothes appear to be in very good condition and they obviously weren't given to her. Why weren't they given to her? Because if she had friends or family they would guess without a doubt that she was living on her own- so she doesn't have anyone to give her clothes or items. So she must have bought them herself as these clothes haven't been thrown away. How has she acquired this money? Well quite obviously her parents died- most likely they left behind a decent cash sum or at least some money and Lucy was then able to look after herself. However, she wouldn't be able to get a house as she is too young to take out a loan at the bank and far too young to even live on her own. Obviously she hasn't wanted to get found and go to a fostering or adoption agency, so she has had to live on the streets and buy herself the things she needs with whatever is in her parent's accounts. Why wouldn't she make her life better by getting fostered? Well it's clear she has fairly bad anxiety, I can tell by the way she wrung her hands while her eyes darted around nervously when she entered the room. I could also see her breath was slightly shaky as though she was trying to calm herself. So perhaps she was too anxious to go to social services- it's the fight or flight instinct. Considering all that she's been through she most likely has depression, that much is obvious by the way she looks- empty, sad and lonely. Her smile only just reaches her eyes and it's apparent that she tries to cover it up. But there's something else... She was slim. No, scratch that, she was skinny, incredibly so and perhaps even unhealthily so. But then again, she could be naturally like that- however, no-one looks that skinny naturally. She didn't look ill from it, but even Sherlock knew that it wasn't exactly normal of a girl of her age. After all, she had the money to eat, but maybe the depression and anxiety affected her appetite..._

The detective leaned back against his chair just as John finished talking to Lucy about whatever it was he had been banging on about. Both the doctor and the girl turned to look at him; Sherlock raised his eyebrows and gave them a 'what are you looking at me for?' look.

"Didn't you hear me Sherlock?" John asked slowly.

"Oh, were you talking to me? I wasn't paying attention to you." Sherlock shrugged. John just rolled his eyes.

"I said, is it okay for Lucy to stay?" His voice sounded nervous with anticipation at what the answer may be.

"Hmm?" Sherlock thought he had already made his answer clear, "Yeah sure." They both looked surprised- John looked more surprised though. Sherlock wasn't one to spend time messing around with children- but Lucy seemed different; after all she wasn't exactly a child. But even so, he actually kind of liked her- maybe he would change his mind in a few days- most likely he wouldn't though. It was the same feeling he got when he first met John, he instantly knew that they would get on well together- and as per usual- he was right. So chances are– because he is always right- he would get on the same with Lucy. This is unusual, because Sherlock rarely gets on with anyone like he does with John, let alone a fifteen year old...

"I can stay?" Lucy said surprised. After all, he was pretty much a stranger to her. Once again, Sherlock snapped out of his own little world and absentmindedly nodded his confirmation. "Thank you so much Mr Holmes." Lucy smiled properly for the first time. At this, Sherlock himself had to smile a bit.

"First things first though," he started, "Please call me Sherlock."

John shortly afterwards decided to give Lucy a tour of the apartment where he proceeded to show her where her room was.

"So this will be your room," John said kindly as they came to a stop. "Your room is next to Sherlock's," he gestured to the left of him, "Shall we go in?"

"It's a lovely room," Lucy commented as she looked around before laying her bag on the bed. She sat on the bed with a sigh, a frown was on her face and she looked worried. Noticing this, John came to sit beside her.

"Are you okay?" He asked gently, knowing that this was all very sudden for the young girl.

"I guess..." Lucy sighed and brushed away a few tears that humiliated her, "This morning, I was injured on the streets. Now I'm in the house of my doctor and his detective flatmate. I don't know how this happened. It's all been so sudden, out of the blue. It's kind of overwhelming; I don't really know what to do. I mean, you and Sherlock are complete strangers, and yet you are letting me live with you... I don't get it." She sounded so confused and overwhelmed.

"I think it really has overwhelmed you Lucy," John put a hand on her shoulder in comfort, "I only knew your parents because I was their doctor. But even so, I'm not having you on the streets. Sherlock and I like you, bearing in mind that Sherlock has been completely different with you which is kinda scary," They both grinned at this. "I promise you, I have no ulterior motive, and I know this seems strange- but things are going to be okay from now on."

"Thank you John, I'm serious, thank you so much for everything." Lucy smiled at him genuinely.

"I'm here if you ever need me." John told her. Lucy nodded. "I'll leave you to unpack," John left her alone to her thoughts.

"Dull dull dull dull dull!" Sherlock moaned. John and Lucy looked up at him with confused faces, although John was quite used to it. "I'm bored." Sherlock groaned. "Pass me my phone please?" He looked at Lucy.

"It's only on the table beside you!" She said bemused.

"It's effort getting it." He muttered. Sighing, Lucy stood up and retrieved his iphone from table and handed it to him. She actually found it rather amusing, and she chuckled lightly- for the first time in ages she actually laughed! She even surprised herself by this. And she began to think that living with Sherlock and John may actually be really good.

"Thanks," Sherlock muttered, his greeny-blue eyes shining.

"You hardly ever say 'thanks' to me," John grumbled.

"Stop being so jealous John, maybe I don't feel like saying it to you." The detective quipped.

"Me? I'm not jealous! You are so rude," The doctor joked frustrated, but he pretended to be hurt. Sherlock decided to ignore him and instead, looked at the text message he'd just received:

I think you'll rather enjoy this game.

It had no I.D; it was untraceable and was from an unknown number. Sherlock frowned. _Game? What game?_ He thought. But his eyes widened. Not a moment later, his mobile started ringing. The caller I.D was Lestrade.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"The police are always out of their depth," Sherlock muttered to himself as he answered the call, "Where was the body found?" he asked, already knowing why Lestrade was calling.

"At another flat," Lestrade replied, "Looks like another suicide."

"The first wasn't a suicide!" Sherlock said exasperated. "It's so blatantly obvious!"

"Well, we would still like you to have a look at this body."

"Only because I'm always right." Sherlock said, and then paused as he got the address. "Oh, wait! Lestrade!" Sherlock suddenly said as though he'd just remembered something, "I'm going to have another friend accompany me, so you know."

"Sherlock..." the man started hesitantly.

"You allow John to come. You will allow Lucy to come if you want any help."

"Fine Sherlock," Lestrade gave in, although he seemed surprised that he wanted a girl to come along, "Only because we need you."

"The police always need me." Sherlock replied smugly as he hung up.

John had previously explained to Lucy what the case was about, but even he was surprised when he heard Sherlock say he wanted Lucy there. The consulting detective wasn't one to want lots of people around when working; but the icing on the cake was when he called Lucy his 'friend.' John guessed it was to convince D.I Lestrade, but Sherlock wasn't the sort to use that word much. After all, it did take him a while to even call John his friend. But the doctor brushed it off and ignored it.

Sherlock stood suddenly, grabbing his wool cape coat and scarf.

"Well?" He looked at John and Lucy expectantly as he put on his clothing.

"Huh?" The doctor made a noise of confusion. Sherlock huffed.

"Weren't you listening? We have another murder!" Sherlock's eyes lit up as he grinned.

"Lestrade says it's a suicide." John muttered.

"Yes, but when is Lestrade ever right?" Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Well come on, we need to go." John got up to grab his jacket, however Lucy remained seated. Sherlock frowned slightly at her, "Are you ready to go?"

"You sure you want me coming? You have only just met me..." Lucy seemed extremely uncertain.

"Of course, you can't beat a good murder!" Sherlock told her happily, "It's better than sitting here watching stupid telly all day."

"If you're sure then," Lucy smiled, "I've never been to a crime scene." She disappeared into her room and reappeared wearing a black jacket that nice went with her black skinny jeans and band t-shirt. As soon as John came back wearing his jacket, Sherlock darted off downstairs. The two watched him with fascination.

"Is he always like this?" Lucy asked laughing.

"You get used to it."

Lucy and John took off after Sherlock and found him waiting for them as he held the front door open. "Hurry up." He said impatiently. "It's not far from here, just a quick taxi ride." The three ran into the road and proceeded to catch a taxi together.

The street outside the flat was quiet and mostly deserted apart from the police. The sun was just beginning to dip below as late afternoon approached- which meant a murder in broad daylight. Police tape separated the outside world from what had happened mere hours earlier, with police cars with flashing blue lights behind. Officers stood by; examining the area for any signs that it could have been a murder. With Sherlock in the lead slightly, the trio walked towards where Sergeant Donovan stood in charge of keeping people out of the crime scene.

"Oh great," She said sarcastically as they approached, "The freak's here." Sherlock shot her a cold glare as she then said, "And he's brought along a teenager. My, my Sherlock, bit young for you." She laughed at him, from just behind her, Anderson overheard and snickered.

"Let us through." The consulting detective demanded, already annoyed enough at her childish behaviour.

"Why would I do that?"

"Really you two," John interrupted before it escalated, "Let's not start here." Sally rolled her eyes and lifted the tape.

"Why have you brought her with you?" She asked as she nodded at Lucy.

"Because she's with me..." Sherlock then realised what he had implied and immediately corrected himself, "She's staying with us back home, and Lestrade has allowed her to come; so if you don't mind." He then barged past her with Lucy and John following. "Out of my way Anderson," Sherlock muttered as they approached the door. Anderson decided to ignore him and speak to Lucy:

"A word of advice kid, don't get caught up with him. He's a freak. He's no good to you, you're best to stay out of his way. You don't know what he's like." Sherlock winced at the harsh words. But he glanced to see Lucy's reaction, _not that it matters,_ he told himself; but deep down he wanted to be at least somewhat liked.

"I think I'm capable of making my own judgements without rude opinions," Lucy suddenly said, slightly coldly yet politely. Anderson looked taken aback, but shrugged:

"Don't say you haven't been warned."

As they all descended the stairs, Sherlock looked back at the teenager.

"Thanks," he murmured to her.

"What for?" She looked surprised.

"For what you said to Anderson," he offered her a small smile- she returned it as they came to a stop inside the room of the murder. No-one apart from John had ever stood up for him, he was expecting Lucy to believe all that he said and then act the way Anderson and Donovan do to him. But no, she stood up for him; she ignored all that Anderson said. And Sherlock was surprised- happily so, maybe he was right about her.

The flat was of a decent size, with a particularly large living room. The walls were coloured in light pain that was colour co-ordinated with the furniture. Everything was perfect, neatly arranged, tidy, and from the decor it was definitely the home of a woman. Sherlock's sharp eyes took in every detail. Lestrade, John and Lucy watched him as he took a look around. Finally, he reached the woman's body in the middle of the living room, he frowned and bent down. It was the same as before; a cut on the neck and wrists causing her to bleed to her death. The woman's hand was clenched, with a gloved hand, Sherlock opened it. Inside, scrunched up, was a note. When the other people in the room started talking to themselves, Sherlock took a quick look. Once again, it was the same as before.

Sherlock.

Just one word- his name- nothing else. _But why?_ Sherlock knew it wasn't a suicide, but the killer wasn't making it easy for him; Sherlock grinned, he didn't do easy.

"Got anything Sherlock?" Greg Lestrade queried as he folded his arms across his chest.

"Of course," the detective said as he stood up, "This is a woman; obviously, who only recently returned from a day out- you can tell by the way she's dressed in a woman's suit with make-up that she is most likely a business woman; and an important one at that. She likes things to be neat and tidy and appears to have slight OCD, which is blatantly obvious as everything in this room is perfectly in line with each other, all the mugs on the side have their handles facing the same way, and all the unused plugs are switched off. Also, everything on that table there- the pens, the paper, the coaster- it's all in line with the edge of the table. She is quite clearly seeing a psychiatrist judging by the medicine in her cupboard, but she rarely takes them as there are several unopened packets that have been collected from almost a year ago. However, contrary to your belief Lestrade, she was murdered." Sherlock concluded with a flourish.

"That was phenomenal!" Lucy murmured, amazed at the man before her. Sherlock turned to her in surprise, John smiled as she reacted in a similar way to him when he first heard Sherlock and his deductions.

"You think so?" Once again, Sherlock looked at her in slight disbelief- John was the only one who had ever been really impressed.

"Are you kidding?" Lucy grinned, awestruck, "It was bloody brilliant!"

"Oh, thank you," Sherlock flashed a happy smile at the compliment he was so unused to receiving.

"Yes, yes" Lestrade started to speak, "It's all good. But you can't prove it was a murder! Once again, we think it's just a coincidental suicide. We found a kitchen knife beside her covered in blood."

"A suicide committed in the exact same way?" The detective raised an eyebrow.

"You have proof otherwise?" The D.I sighed.

"I know it wasn't." Sherlock said as though that was enough evidence alone.

"I'm sorry Sherlock, but we need proof." Lestrade said.

"If it carries on, and you haven't been listening, it will be your fault," Sherlock snapped frustrated. There was a moment of silence, no-one knowing what to say.

"It wasn't a suicide," Lucy suddenly said. All eyes turned to her in shock at her contribution. "I know I'm just a fifteen year old girl, but I know that wasn't a suicide." Sherlock was faintly impressed, but he was curious:

"What makes you say that?" Both Sherlock and Lestrade asked at the same time. They looked at each other, then back to Lucy.

"Well, this murderer is quite clever," she said taking a few steps to look closer at the cuts on the woman's neck and wrists, "But there's just one thing he's forgotten... Those cuts aren't self-inflicted." She looked at them confidently.

"How can you tell?" Greg asked her incredulously.

"It's a slight difference; the knife should make a clean cut if self-inflicted, nice and simple. But these cuts are different. They're jagged, that shows a slight struggle before she became too weak, it shows that someone else cut her by the way the cut is shaped. If it was herself, they would be cleaner and straighter. Also, why kill yourself in the middle of your living room? Most people would do it in a bath tub full of water..." She finished talking and looked up at their surprised faces with a small smile.

"Wow," John said.

"That was pretty impressive," Sherlock murmured, for once someone else's intelligence surprised him.

"How do you know all of that?" Lestrade was wide-eyed. Lucy shrugged in response.

"Trust me," she said, "I know what I'm talking about."

Sherlock was amazed; she had helped him to convince the police with surprising knowledge. But it actually concerned both him and John: how on earth did she know that much about cuts? And self-inflicted ones? Sherlock wasn't sure what to make of it, and neither he nor John asked her right away. They of course wanted to know how she acquired this knowledge, but something told Sherlock that perhaps now wasn't the time to ask those questions.

But now Sherlock had his proof.

The game is on.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"Dinner anyone?" John suggested as they started to walk back down the stairs to the exit of the flat. The night sky outside was dark, and it was around seven o'clock. Stars glinted slightly as a sharp, cold breeze whistled through the trees.

"If you want," Sherlock shrugged, never being bothered by food whatsoever.

"Lucy?" John turned to her. She didn't look over the moon at the mention of food, but wanted to appear normal she replied:

"Sure."

They soon found themselves sitting in Angelo's restaurant a few minutes later; John smiled as he recalled the last time he and Sherlock were here during the case of 'A Study in Pink.' After ordering their food- John's being a pasta dish, Lucy's being a small salad and Sherlock's obviously being nothing- they started to chat about Lucy.

"So how did your parents die?" Sherlock suddenly asked, very much out of the blue. The sudden question shocked Lucy as she stared at him with wide eyes for a moment. Sherlock didn't appear to understand what was so shocking about his question, but he assumed that it was down to emotions, or whatever John called it.

"Sherlock," John hissed his name in warning, as he didn't want to upset the teen. Seeming to have recovered from the initial shock of the query, Lucy bit her cheek and dug her nails into the palm of her hand to control the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.

"No, no, it's all right," she muttered to John, attempting to put on a brave face. Lucy guessed that the consulting detective was just trying to understand her more- especially if they were going to be living together. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she started to tell them the story. John, who had known her parents fairly well, was interested and a bit surprised to hear all of this; as he had never known how they had died. "Well, it was around six months ago I guess. We were at home, just me, mum and dad. We weren't doing much at all, just watching a little TV. There was a knock at the door, so dad went to go answer it. After a good few minutes, mum started to get worried, we couldn't hear anyone talking so we were wondering where dad had gone. Five minutes went by of pure silence, then, out of nowhere, an ear piercing scream sounded from outside our house. Mum, thinking it was dad, bolted to the door. I was sitting there waiting. I could hear no-one speak. It was silent... too silent. In a panic, I moved as quietly as possible to the open door, in a position where I could see outside, but I was partially hidden from view. Before I had a chance to look- two loud gunshots rang out into the darkness of the night. Obviously I was frightened, and unsure of what was going on, so tentatively I peered around the side of the door." Lucy took a deep breath and rubbed her face as the terrifying night came back to her in a flood of memories. Amazingly, Sherlock had stayed quiet throughout her story, not interrupting- but carefully listening to her. "There was blood, so much blood all on the driveway and splatters on the pavement near where a sinister looking black Mercedes was parked. I didn't dare go outside. I was sat in my room crying, too scared, and too paralysed with fear to even will my body to move. I knew they were dead. The next morning I summoned the bravery to go outside; the Mercedes had vanished, and in its place was a single gun, and two bullet shells. And blood, a lot of blood. My parents were nowhere to be seen." Lucy bit back the tears, "Later that same day there was a thing on the news saying two bodies had been found in an abandoned warehouse, and if there was anyone who knew anything they were to contact the police immediately. Of course, I said I did. But I knew they would take me in if I told them they were my parents. So I lied and said I saw two bodies being dragged away. I was sent to identify the bodies, and they looked exactly like my parents, with a single bullet hole through each of their foreheads." Lucy shrugged as she ended her story. "They never caught the killer."

John could see that Sherlock so badly wanted to say something, but he gave his friend a look that told him not to voice his opinion or perception on the matter. Reaching a comforting hand onto the teenagers shoulder, he felt saddened when she flinched under his touch.

After that, the conversation changed to a much happier subject, as more tales of John and Sherlock's adventures were recounted. John wanted to distract Lucy from thinking too much about her parents- as it was clearly upsetting her- and Sherlock was more than happy to talk about just how brilliant his solutions were to the countless problems he had solved. The food was good, it always was- and Angelo still liked to give them free meals because of Sherlock so that was a bonus. But John was worried, he frowned as he looked at what little Lucy had eaten. Chances are that she wasn't hungry- the stress of the whole day may have just gotten to her, but John wasn't sure, but now wasn't the time to ask. Just as they were about to leave, Sherlock felt his phone vibrate with a text message. The detective frowned as he read the single line:

Are you and the girl enjoying my game?

 _How on earth does the killer know about Lucy? Does that mean he is keeping tabs on us?_ Sherlock's mind was a whirlwind of questions.

"Are you okay Sherlock?" John asked him, bringing his friend out of his own little world.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Sherlock muttered as he pulled on his coat. He frowned slightly as he glanced down once again at the message before pocketing the phone and heading off to 221B Baker Street.

Walking up the stairs into their flat, Sherlock frowned slightly again. Someone else was in the house.

"What is it?" John asked when he saw Sherlock grab what appeared to be disinfectant from Mrs Hudson's cleaning supplies.

"Shh, someone's here." He whispered. Tiptoeing to the door, he waited; Sherlock took a breath before bursting into the room ready to spray disinfectant at the stranger. Lucy and John followed him, confusion on their faces at the heavy pause before:

"Mycroft?" Sherlock huffed loudly as he complained at his brother's presence. "What are you doing here?" Lucy didn't think that Sherlock sounded at all pleased at the person he so blatantly knew.

"Oh, hello Sherlock, lovely to see you dear brother," Mycroft drawled slightly sarcastically in that posh accent of his.

"Hey Mycroft," John greeted the older man with a nod as he and Lucy stepped into the room.

"John, good to see you." He said, "And this must be the teenager who is staying with you."

"How do you..." John was about to ask how when both he himself and Sherlock answered the question at the same time:

"Cameras."

"Of course," Mycroft smiled as though it was normal to have someone's flat rigged with hidden cameras. He turned back to Lucy, "Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's older brother." He introduced himself as he held out a hand to the teenager.

"Lucy Patterson," she politely introduced herself as she grasped his hand firmly and shook it with a small smile.

"What are you doing here Mycroft?" Sherlock asked impatiently, seeming bored at the formalities.

"Just wanting to introduce myself to young Lucy," Sherlock's brother replied, unfazed by the detectives annoyance at him. "I saw she would be living here, so I thought I should meet her. Especially if she is becoming part of the family here at 221B."

"Family?" Sherlock frowned, "I wouldn't quite say that. They're my friends."

"Whatever," Mycroft shrugged, "They're as good as family to you- considering the way you can treat people." Sherlock glared at his brother.

"I have been very nice to Lucy," Sherlock told him.

"Really?" Mycroft quirked an eyebrow. Apparently Sherlock wasn't usually nice to people.

"He actually has," John decided to interrupt before Sherlock got wound up, "They're quite a pair together." John smiled at them, "They've already managed to convince Lestrade together that the supposed suicides are actually murders."

"Have you now?" The older Holmes sounded surprised, "I thought Lestrade was dead set on them being suicides."

"Yeah, well," Sherlock started, "Lucy helped me to convince him otherwise. I couldn't have done it without her." He flashed the teenager a genuinely happy smile. His brother looked pleasantly surprised.

"Well in that case I'm glad," Mycroft sighed as he fiddled with his umbrella handle, "You need to have friends."

"Well I have two, John and Lucy."

"I'm surprised you are already calling her a friend."

"I like her. She's intelligent. I value that in a person, although John is an exception."

"Wait, what?" John looked offended.

"Oh you know what I mean John," Sherlock smiled at him, "You are mildly intelligent, if that makes you feel any better." John just grumbled to himself.

"Well I must be off dear brother, important business you know," he glanced at Lucy an informed her: "I occupy a minor role in the British Government."

"He practically is the British Government," Sherlock said.

"Nice meeting you Lucy," Mycroft said, ignoring Sherlock's comment that he had heard before when Sherlock told John about him, "Goodbye John. Look after yourself Sherlock."

"Goodbye," Lucy and John said.

"I so anxiously await your next visit Mycroft," Sherlock said with sarcasm dripping in his voice. Mycroft just shot him a look as he picked up his umbrella and left the trio alone.

Shortly after, Lucy decided to call it a night. In all honesty, she was actually rather tired from the day, and she wanted nothing more than to just go to her new room and think things over. It had been a hectic day after all. She bid goodnight to the boys and went to go to her room, just as she opened the door, John came up to her.

"Is everything okay?" Lucy asked him, wondering what he wanted.

"Yeah, I just wanted to say that... if you need me, for whatever reason during the night, or anytime in fact- don't be afraid to come and find me. You know my room is upstairs- so just knock on the door okay?" John smiled slightly at her.

"Thank you John," Lucy returned the smile, "I mean it, thank you for everything."

"No problem," John said. "Goodnight Lucy."

"Goodnight John," Lucy said as she went into her room.

That night, Lucy stayed awake for what seemed like forever. She couldn't sleep. She would just toss and turn, plagued with thoughts of her family. Everything had overwhelmed her, and she was struggling to cope. She was always struggling to cope. Unable to resist the overwhelming temptation any longer, Lucy reached out for her bag beside her bed. Opening one of the compartments, she withdrew a small box and some tissues. From inside the box, she took out a blade. A shiny silver razor blade that seemed to glint in the moonlight that filtered through her bedroom window. Rolling back the long sleeves of her pyjama top, she looked at the numerous cuts and scars that littered her arms, telling a story with their red and white lines. They were wounds of pain, wounds of sadness and loss, wounds of all of the emotions she could no longer cope with. And this was the only way she could feel better.

Bringing the blade to the skin of her forearm, she cut, pressing down to create a fairly deep gash. Cut after cut after cut, the blade was drawn across her arm and tears streamed down her pale face. Trails of blood dripped from both of her arms, and she hastily cleaned up most of it with the tissues which soon became soaked from the red liquid. She sighed, relishing the buzz. As she put away her tools, she felt a wave of tiredness wash over her, and as she lay back, she let sleep consume her.

A piercing scream rang through the flat and awoke John from his sleep. In an instant he knew it was Lucy, most likely in the throes of a nightmare. He jumped out of bed and quickly made his way to Lucy's room, the screaming stopped as he neared her door- which to his surprise was open. Going inside, he was amazed to find Sherlock holding her, shaking her gently from sleep and out of the nightmare that tormented her. She was awake by the time John reached them, and she was crying. Tears streamed down her face and she held tightly onto Sherlock. John was surprised. Sherlock was the last person he thought he'd see comforting someone, the detective had one arm wrapped around the teenagers shoulders as he silently held her. It was obvious he was unsure what to say or do, but nonetheless, it was a sight to behold! Sherlock had moved onto the bed so he was lying on it- sitting up slightly- beside the upset girl.

"Are you alright Lucy?" John asked her gently as he sat on her bed.

"Nightmare," she said shakily as she attempted to calm herself. "I... I'm sorry! I didn't mean to wake you!" She sounded so genuinely upset at the thought she had disturbed them that John's heart just broke to see her like this.

"Hey now, it's okay, don't worry. It doesn't bother me and I'm guessing that Sherlock was already awake." John comforted her, "What was the nightmare about?"

"Nothing important," she muttered, wiping away the tears that kept falling.

"Are you sure?" John frowned in concern. He touched the teenagers arm but quickly withdrew it as she flinched and jerked her arm away from the touch. John had, after all, just touched the fresh cuts that stung Lucy's arm. John decided to ignore her reaction, but couldn't help but glance at what appeared to be blood on her sleeve. "Are you okay?" He asked her, motioning to her arm, "What happened?" At his question, Lucy's face paled slightly, but she shrugged it off.

"Oh, that's nothing," she muttered, "Must have caught it or something..."

"Can I see?" John requested, "That looks like a bit of blood..."

"No! No it's fine," she said quickly, "It's okay."

"Well, if you're sure... tell me if it gets infected though..." John said softly, surprised at how defensive she was over her arm. Not knowing what to say about her wound, John sighed, as a doctor he obviously wanted to see it- but it was clear she didn't want him to take a look. So for now he would have to agree with what she was comfortable with. During this time, Sherlock had taken to absentmindedly stroking the teenager's soft brown hair.

"If you want, I could stay with you for a bit," John offered, not sure whether or not Sherlock would even consider staying much longer.

"I'll stay," Sherlock suddenly spoke for the first time, startling both John and Lucy. John was extremely surprised at what Sherlock had said, ever since Lucy had come, he had seemed to be a little different. John knew that he was putting some effort into appearing friendly to Lucy, although she already knew what he could be like. But even that response shocked him.

"Are you sure?" John asked Sherlock.

"Of course," the detective murmured as he got himself more comfortable.

"You really don't have to..." Lucy whispered, embarrassed that she had interrupted them with a silly nightmare.

"Get some sleep," Sherlock told her, before she had a chance to protest further. She sniffed and cuddled up against Sherlock's side. Sherlock didn't seem to know what to do again at the contact, but he settled for stroking her hair again.

"If you need me you know where I am," John said gently, "Goodnight both of you."

"Night," Lucy mumbled as he walked out of the door. After a brief pause she murmured, "Thank you Sherlock."

"For what?" The detective frowned.

"For staying with me and letting me stay here and for being nice to me," she said sleepily. Sherlock smiled a little.

"Come on now, get some rest," he murmured quietly as she drifted back off to a much more peaceful sleep in his arms.

From inside Sherlock's pocket, his phone vibrated and a text message popped up on the display screen:

Are you ready for the next part of my game?


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

It was around nine in the morning when John woke up. As he got dressed he noted the fact that the flat was silent, very silent. No noise from Sherlock, or Lucy for that matter. Chances are that Sherlock didn't sleep at all last night- not an uncommon thing for him- but would he have stayed the whole night with Lucy? John very much doubted that, but Sherlock continued to surprise him. The doctor padded down the stairs towards the teenager's new room, the door was still shut, but John couldn't hear anyone else moving in the flat so he quietly opened the door.

Light streamed through the curtains, lighting up the dark room and illuminating the pair on the bed. It appeared that Lucy was just beginning to wake up, and Sherlock was still in the exact same place as he was last night; lying on the bed slightly with Lucy leaning on him. _Have they spent the whole night like that?_ John wondered incredulously, surprised at Sherlock's gentle behaviour which was admittedly beginning to scare him.

"Morning," John announced cheerily as he entered the room and moved towards his flatmates.

"Are you announcing the fact that it's morning, or is that meant to sound like a general greeting?" Sherlock queried. John smiled at the detective being his usual self.

"I think he meant it as a general greeting," Lucy suddenly mumbled sleepily, "But it could have been both." She chuckled at the man. "Good morning you two." The teenager said, a little more awake, as she sat up and moved off of Sherlock. "I haven't slept on you all night have I?"

"Yes, you did," Sherlock answered with no annoyance evident in his deep voice.

"Oh, I'm really sorry..."

"Don't be," Sherlock stretched, "I don't mind. It's not like I sleep much anyways."

"Anyone want breakfast?" John offered.

"No," both Sherlock and Lucy said at the same time.

"Are you sure?" John frowned, "You don't want anything Lucy?"

"No thanks, I don't really eat breakfast..."

"Okay then, I'll leave you to get ready," John shrugged as he went to the kitchen to make himself some breakfast.

Sherlock glared at his phone, the text message last night was still bugging him. It was from an unknown number, and was untraceable, so he didn't really have that much to go on. He'd received an email from Lestrade saying that the fingerprints on the knife were those that matched the victims; the consulting detective actually wasn't surprised by this finding, but the detective inspector was. Which is why he wanted Sherlock to go down to the morgue at St Bart's to have another look at the bodies. Much to Sherlock's surprise he also said that Lucy was welcome if she wanted to join them- which would be useful as before she had helped to prove they weren't suicides. But now it looked like Lestrade may need a little more convincing after the whole fingerprint fiasco. It was sometime near eleven, when Sherlock decided to get dressed into some fresh clothes. When he came out of his room he adorned some black trousers and black shoes, along with a very nice looking purple shirt that clung to him- showing off his lean but toned body.

"Nice shirt," Lucy complimented as he entered the living room.

"Uh... thanks," he replied, unused to receiving compliments. From the back of a chair he retrieved a black blazer style jacket and he walked towards the kitchen as he shrugged it on. The consulting detective walked into the kitchen, then out of the kitchen, before proceeding to look around the living room. Lucy watched him with mild amusement.

"Lost something?" She asked.

"John." Sherlock muttered as he went towards the doctor's bedroom.

"John?" Lucy frowned, "Did you not hear him shout to you, saying that he had just popped out to get some more eggs as we had run out?"

"He never shouted anything to me," Sherlock stopped in his search as he came out of John's bedroom with a laptop under his arm, "How long ago was this?"

"About ten minutes- just before you came out." Lucy laughed.

"What's funny?"

"Oh, nothing, John said you do this sometimes."

"John didn't exactly give you a nice description of me before you came here did he?" Sherlock huffed. Lucy seemed to hesitate at this.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he didn't exactly say nice things I'm guessing."

"He did," the teenager shifted to look into Sherlock's gaze, "But he mostly just warned me that you can do some things, like not realise that John's gone out even though he told you. He also mentioned that you may not like me or even attempt to be nice to me. But you are so it doesn't matter."

"I'm not that bad you know," Sherlock whispered.

"I know." Lucy told him gently. They then fell into a comfortable silence. The dark haired man looked at his new flatmate. Today, she was wearing black skinny jeans, and another long sleeved top of some kind. But there was nothing unusual about that given the typical, cold London weather.

"Right, come on," Sherlock suddenly said, he got to his feet as he put on his grey coat.

"Huh?"

"We're going to the morgue, Lestrade wants me and you're coming too. I'll text John when we're on our way."

John ended up meeting them in the morgue along with Lestrade and Molly, he seemed annoyed that they hadn't waited for him but he didn't say anything. In the middle of the room lay the body of the dead woman from yesterday, on a sterilised examination table, with a sheet covering the person's modesty. The cut on her neck was looking better than it was the other day, not that it really mattered anymore.

"It's a murder."

"No it's not Sherlock!" Lestrade countered, "When will you listen and admit you're wrong? There is nothing to say it was a murder."

"My name," Sherlock said as evidence.

"What?"

"Don't you remember?" Sherlock turned away from the dead body to look at Greg, "My name was scratched on the wall in the first murder," he said with added evidence on murder, "Then, it was written down in the second."

"There was nothing written down, or anything to do with your name with her suicide." Lestrade frowned.

"Oh, right," Sherlock fumbled around in his pocket before pulling out the paper with his name written on in an elegant script, "See? My name. I took this from her clenched hand, must have forgotten to show you..."

"Why would you take the evidence from the crime scene?"

"Because you wouldn't believe me anyway," Sherlock glared, "You want these to be suicides. But isn't it too much of a coincidence that they both committed suicide in the exact same way? A cut to both wrists and the neck; you have to look past the obvious. This is what the killer wants you to think, he's playing a game, don't you see?"

"Sherlock, I'm sure other people have killed themselves in this way," Lestrade told him matter of factly, "And for now, we have to treat it as suicide."

"A study in pink," Sherlock hissed, "You thought they were 'serial suicides' then didn't you? And look what that turned out to be."

"Well can you prove to me that this is a murder?"

"I need more time." Sherlock turned away from Greg but continued speaking, "How many more murders is it going to take for you to realise?" There was a brief moment of silence; no-one really knew what to say.

"Anyone want coffee?" Molly piped up, breaking the quiet with her cheerful voice. Everyone declined, but she went to go make herself one anyway. Suddenly, Lucy spoke up:

"What sort of knives did you find with the victim's fingerprints on?"

"Huh?" Lestrade, surprised at her sudden question, took a moment to answer, "They were both kitchen knives, both of which were covered in blood."

"What are you getting at?" Sherlock queried Lucy. He had now turned to face her and the other's again in interest.

"Can I take a look?" The teenager asked, gesturing to the body. Lestrade nodded, and she went to examine the body at a closer distance. "John," she looked over her shoulder at the doctor, "Can you come here please?"

"Sure," he stood beside her.

"Oh," Lucy's eyes widened, "Has anyone had a proper examination of her yet?" She nodded towards the dead body.

"Not a thorough one," Molly said as she walked back in with coffee.

"John, can you open her mouth slightly?" Lucy asked him. "Has anyone looked inside her mouth?"

"No," Molly frowned. John, in the meantime, had pulled on some thin surgical gloves, and had began to pry open the mouth of the dead woman.

"Oh!" John Watson said in surprise.

"What is it?" Greg asked. Reaching into her mouth, John retrieved what looked like a scrap of paper. And Sherlock observed that it was the same type of paper as the one he found in her hand.

"Paper," John muttered as he held it in his hand, "And it says something, although it's been smudged a bit- probably from her saliva."

"What does it say?" Sherlock asked.

"Sherlock, hope you like games..." John read with his eyes wide.

"Are you serious?" Greg said, shocked.

"Now are we going to treat this as a murder?" Sherlock said, looking at the detective inspector.

"I... Well that doesn't seem as though the victim wrote that, and I doubt we can get a fingerprint analysis because it's been in her mouth..." He turned to Lucy, "How did you know to look in her mouth?"

"Hm? Oh, I didn't." She said, but looking at his confused face, she continued: "I was originally going to say something about the cuts on her body, but then I thought that the skin around her mouth looked a little odd, as though something was in it. So I wanted to check, just in case." She shrugged.

"The cuts..." Sherlock suddenly said before Lestrade could say anything. "Yes! Oh yes how stupid are you and your team of idiotic police officers?"

"Sherlock!" Greg exclaimed, exasperated at the consulting detectives attitude towards the police force. Sherlock ignored him and continued:

"Ah, I didn't realised at first, but now I do," he turned to Lucy and said, "The other day you said these cuts weren't self inflicted because of the way they are shaped."

"I did," she nodded slowly, wondering where this was going.

"And you're right. But you also said they are jagged?"

"Yeah, well, they are..." Her eyes suddenly widened in realisation. "Oh!"

"Exactly," Sherlock grinned triumphantly.

"Anyone going to explain for the idiots?" John interrupted.

"Look you two, really look," Sherlock said as Lestrade and John looked at the cuts, "Can't you see? They're jagged. I didn't even think about that yesterday. Stupid, stupid."

"Sherlock! What is it?" Greg raised his voice above the detective's rambling.

"Those cuts aren't from a kitchen knife!" Sherlock exclaimed, "They're jagged! The only sort of knife that can make those cuts is a serrated one!" John and Greg nodded in realisation, "Wow, are Lucy and I the only intelligent one's here?" Sherlock muttered. Lucy looked quite touched at the compliment, but John and Lestrade didn't apparently feel the same way.

"Well then," Lestrade sighed heavily, "It looks like we have a murder on our hands."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

All in all Sherlock was satisfied with the results he got from the mortuary. Now Lestrade was thoroughly convinced it was a murder, which made co-operation with the police a lot easier for the detective as they now both agreed on the crime that had been committed. But now they were left to wait, they still had nothing much to go on, however Greg had sent his team out to the scenes of the murder to look for any kind of serrated knife that could have killed them. If they were lucky enough to come up with matching knives, they could possibly get a fingerprint analysis. Sherlock knew that wouldn't happen though. The murderer had been far too clever so far, and he wasn't about to make a simple slip up of leaving fingerprints lying around the place. No, he wasn't making this easy; he knew how to play this game well- very well in fact. But Sherlock would not let him win.

"I'm hungry." John decided to announce when they left St Bart's.

"I'm Lucy," the young teen quipped quickly, earning a snicker from the two men walking beside her.

"Hilarious," John rolled his eyes good-naturedly, "Where should we get food?"

"Wherever, I'm not hungry," Sherlock muttered, wrapping his scarf around his neck tighter. John sighed heavily:

"You need to eat Sherlock, and don't give me crap about your body just being transport. I'm ordering you."

"Fine." Sherlock groaned, not wanting an argument over the matter.

"Any preferences?" John asked Lucy.

"Nope, I'm not too hungry myself to be honest," she replied.

"You haven't eaten much recently," John frowned, concerned, "You're feeling okay?

"I'm feeling fine, yes," Lucy said robotically.

They ended up going into a small cafe only a few streets away from Baker street. Sherlock ordered a sandwich, John ordered a jacket potato, and Lucy ordered a small salad.

"You need to eat more than a salad you know Lucy," John told her.

"I said I wasn't hungry," she muttered lightly, "I'll be fine."

"Lucy I know..."

"No John, you don't know," the teenager suddenly snapped without thinking, the past couple of day's stress catching up with her, "You don't really know me, neither does Sherlock. And yet, I'm suddenly living with you two in your flat. You don't know my eating habits; you don't know anything about me. So just leave me alone!" At this point, at the mention of 'you don't know anything about me,' Sherlock decided to voice his deductions of the teenager to prove otherwise. Timing really wasn't his strong point.

"You're a teenager, age fifteen, and have been living rough for around six months. You don't have any friends or family, as they would have realised your living conditions and would have intervened. You have a fair amount of money judging by the state of your clothes, as some of them seem new and are in brilliant condition. No one has given them to you as you don't have anyone to give you things, so your parents were well off. You have anxiety issues, the way your eyes darted about uncertainly and the way you wrung your hands when you first came into our flat were clear signs of that. Your anxiety is also part of the reason why you never went to an adoption or fostering agency or got help, you were too scared or nervous about what would happen. You also have a form of depression evident by the way you smile- as your smile doesn't reach your eyes and sometimes you just seem empty. Also judging by everything you've been through you most likely have depression." Sherlock took a breath, not even pausing despite John's glare and Lucy's obvious upset, "You're slim, incredibly so. You had plenty of money to eat but you didn't. Perhaps this could be down to the depression and the lack of appetite. But judging by how skinny you are and by how little you eat, you most likely have an undiagnosed eating disorder of some kind..." He trailed off as Lucy suddenly stood up and walked out of the cafe without so much as a backwards glance.

"Way to go Sherlock." John muttered sarcastically.

"Don't go after her," Sherlock told him before the doctor had a chance to stand up, "She needs some time on her own to get her head straight. She's been through a lot these past few days."

"You shouldn't have done that."

"I wanted to prove that we did know her a little." The detective defended himself.

"By rattling off her life story? Telling us personal things like that?"

"In hindsight I do realise I probably shouldn't have gone as far as I did, but timing isn't my forte."

"The least you could do is apologise."

"I doubt she'll want to be anywhere near me, like all the rest. But you started it."

"Yes, I know, and I will apologise, I shouldn't have assumed that I could tell her about her eating when we don't know each other too well."

"Hurry up and eat so we can get back to the flat," Sherlock told John, not wanting the conversation to carry on further.

Lucy had stormed off, fuming. But soon, her anger dissipated into just pure sadness. She felt like she's known John and Sherlock for months, although it had only been a day. It was strange. However she wasn't appreciative of John trying to be like a parent and telling her what to do. She winced slightly, and brushed away a stray tear as she opened the door to 221B Baker Street with the key she had been given yesterday. She'd missed the peace of being on her own, so the quiet of the flat was more than welcome as she immediately escaped into her bedroom. It already felt like home, she thought as she glanced around the room. But she didn't feel like sitting doing nothing; she couldn't. All the emotions were building again, and she just couldn't cope. Besides, it was a habit, and it wasn't one she was willing to break. Not when it worked so well for her unlike any other coping mechanism. So with tears beginning to sting her eyes again, she reached into her bag to withdraw the box that contained the one thing that kept her sane.

The metal glinted, and the coolness of it felt relaxing. Lucy sighed appreciatively as she felt it in her hand, running her finger along the sharp edge that was slightly crusting with dried blood. To many it would be considered sickening, which is why she couldn't let John or Sherlock find out. She couldn't bear to see what sort of reaction they would give, John may be a doctor, but even he would be shocked. Perhaps even disgusted. As for Sherlock... well there was no telling with him was there? And if they did find out, they may kick her out, back onto the street without caring. So she wasn't about to risk that chance.

She rolled up her sleeves. The numerous scars and red cuts glared up at her with accusation, accusing her of being so pathetic, worthless. But she did it anyway. Cut after cut, the blade went deeper and deeper. Blood flowed down her arm but she blotted it and prevented it from dripping onto the bed with a white tissue. She felt numb. Everything felt numb. It was like she wasn't even alive. Placing the blade back into her bag, she just sat there and looked at her work. The cuts and scars made her feel so much better, and the buzz the self harm gave her made everything bearable for a while. Time passed without her realising, and she suddenly heard the door to the flat shut and footsteps on the stairs- signalling her flatmates and friends arrival.

"Shit." She mumbled to herself. She didn't have time to go clean her arms- which were covered in dried blood- so she simply pulled down her sleeves, praying to god that Sherlock wouldn't deduce her secret.

"Lucy?" She heard John call out. The teenager winced at his worried but gentle voice and immediately regretted what she had said to him and Sherlock. She shouldn't have had a go at John, or at Sherlock for that matter, she only hoped that they would forgive her. "Lucy?" He called out again, this time his voice sounded closer.

Running a hand through her dark hair, Lucy decided to just go into the living room and face them. As she entered, John turned to her.

"Thank God Lucy, I was worried," John breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of her sitting down on the couch.

"Sorry." She mumbled, unsure what to say, "I shouldn't have said that to you."

"Hey now, its okay, no need to apologise." John smiled reassuringly, "And I'm sorry too, I shouldn't have said what I did."

"Its fine," Lucy whispered. She sighed, but said: "I just felt like you were saying something my parents would have said, and... I donno..."

"I understand," John said, saving her from trying to explain. At that point, Sherlock immerged from the kitchen after taking off his coat. He eyed the teenager with his sharp blue-green eyes, a momentary flash of concern showed on his face before he quickly hid it.

"What happened?" He suddenly asked her.

"Huh?" She said, slightly taken aback by his first words.

"You heard what I said," he frowned, hating having to repeat himself, "There's blood on your hand. What happened?" He gestured to her hands which were- as he correctly noted- had some dried blood still on them.

"Shit." She whispered, low enough for them not to hear, but her lack of response concerned them both.

"Lucy," John stepped forward, "Where has that blood come from?"


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

" _Lucy," John stepped forward, "Where has that blood come from?"_

She froze.

Attempting to compose her face as quickly as possible, she took a step back away from John. But her scared look hadn't gone unnoticed by Sherlock or John for that matter. Dammit! She growled to herself. Now what was she to do? It was imperative that they didn't find out, they would make her stop, they may send her to therapy, and she couldn't do it! She couldn't do it! It was all too much. But her prolonged silence and apparent inability to speak had piqued both their concern. Now she was screwed. What could she tell them? They'd be suspicious if she tried to shrug it off after her frightened mute moment.

"Lucy?" John prompted as he took another step towards the seemingly scared teenager. She took another step back- much to John's concern- and ended up backing against the wall. Feeling trapped, she felt her breath quicken as her anxiety started to get the better of her. Her eyes darted around the room, looking desperately for a way out of her situation. Sherlock watched her with steady eyes, unsure what to make of everything, but it was obvious that his mind was beginning to come to its own conclusions. Before either had a chance to say anything, Lucy finally spoke up; although her shaky voice was riddled with anxiety:

"It's nothing," she winced at her obvious choice of idiotic words, "I mean, I must have just caught it or something..."

"There are no cuts on your hand to have been caught." Sherlock stated, "You've handled blood, but the source wasn't from your hands." Damn him for being so clever.

To say John was worried was to say the absolute least. Hell, he was more than worried. Part of it was from his doctor side, but a great deal was from his own genuine concern for his flatmate. No, she was more than a flatmate. She was a friend. As strange as it was, he already considered her a friend. They got on well in general, and the age difference didn't matter- he still saw her as a friend. As did Sherlock apparently; much to everyone's complete surprise. But as to the matter at hand, John himself wasn't too sure how she had acquired the dried blood on her hands. There wasn't a lot of it mind, but it was a concern as to what the origins of it were. She could have caught herself, and wiped it off with her hand- but that seemed a little unlikely.

"Lucy, have you hurt yourself?" John asked innocently.

"What?" Her eyes widened.

"Have you caught yourself by accident?"

"Oh," she appeared to relax some, "Uh... yeah." Her response was uncertain, and wasn't really what John would have liked to hear, as he wasn't sure how honest she was being.

"Let me take a look," John said, coming closer to her.

"No!" She practically yelled, "I mean... its fine."

"No Lucy, I want to make sure it doesn't get infected." John told her firmly. Sherlock had been quietly listening throughout their exchange, and he scanned her clothing silently. Her jeans were clean, but the sleeves of her arm appeared to have what looked like small stain patches on the faded black fabric. Blood most likely. Does that mean her arms were injured? He frowned.

Lucy was helpless to resist as John reached out to take her arm. She couldn't help the flinch that wracked her body as he touched the recent cuts- most likely opening them up some more. He gave her a concerned glance, but wordlessly led her over to the couch- where she sat down.

"Just leave me alone." She said, a little harshly to him.

"I need to make sure you're going to be okay." John told her gently, giving her a reassuring smile at her terrified face. But he frowned: "...Or is there something you're not telling me?"

"Uh... I... uh," Lucy stammered, hating herself to the point where she would happily curl up and die. She fiddled with the sleeves of her top unconsciously, and yanked them down past her hands a bit. John's intentions were good, she knew that, he meant well- but she didn't want her secret revealed. No. It couldn't happen. Feeling tears prickle her eyes, she silently cursed as a lone one trailed down her cheek. She felt betrayed by the tears, and it didn't help ease John's concern.

"Roll up your sleeves please," he ordered softly. By now, Sherlock had moved closer to the pair. His eyes were wide with realisation. He deduced everything that was impossible, and now, what remained, must be the truth. And he couldn't quite believe it. He only needed to see her arms to confirm his suspicions.

"No." Lucy said defiantly.

"Lucy, either you do it yourself, or I'll do it for you," the doctor said, now worried at what he may find. The teenager hesitated long enough for John to know that she wasn't going to move.

"John," Sherlock suddenly spoke up, making both the doctor and the young girl jump, "Uh, should I get a first aid kit?"

"Um... sure?" John frowned. How did Sherlock know she'd need treatment? Or had it figured out what was wrong himself? Knowing Sherlock, he probably had figured it out. The consulting detective returned not a moment later after dashing up to John's room to get the first aid kit, to find the two flatmates in the same position as before. He handed the box to John, and ended up taking the seat next to Lucy.

"Lucy..." He started, "Please roll up your sleeves." The teenager turned to look at him with such a pitiful gaze, that it made Sherlock almost feel bad for her and what she may have to go through- should his deductions be correct. But he let no emotion show on his steadily calm face, as he patiently waited.

"Is there any way I can get out of it?" She asked after a pause. Her voice sounded quiet and defeated. Both the doctor and the detective shook their heads. Although Lucy hated what was happening, she had to admit that she was rather touched by their apparent concern for her. With shaking hands she started to roll her faded black sleeves up. Her head was kept down, staring at the sleeves as she couldn't bring herself to look them in the eye; afraid of the judgement, of the disappointment.

The skin of her arms were presented to the two men she had come to call friends. The contrast of her pale skin against the red of the cuts was agonising to look at given the current situation. She hated herself. She heard the sharp intake of breath from both Sherlock and John as they finally saw what was held underneath the layers of clothing. They were met with rows upon rows of scars- some were white, others were pink. Sherlock and John's eyes trailed over the most recent cuts; some of which had a few beads of bright red blood breaking through. Their depth varied from deep to shallow scratches. But all of them were a shock to the men. Sherlock had been right. Lucy self harmed.

"Lucy..." John breathed, speechless. His heart broke at the sight as he realised just how upset Lucy must be to do this to herself. The teenager took a deep breath, and finally looked up to meet their gazes. John looked torn, shocked at what he saw. Whereas Sherlock didn't look as shocked (Lucy presumed he had made a deduction of some kind) but yet, the slight worried and sadness were evident in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," Lucy mumbled, hating the long silence of disbelief.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," John told her with compassion laced in his calm voice. His doctor instincts quickly kicked in, and he immediately began tending to the most recent cuts. Sherlock admittedly couldn't quite understand why someone would feel the need to do this; that fact was probably down to his sociopathic tendencies. But even Sherlock knew, deep down, that he wasn't a sociopath. He had feelings. He did care. And he didn't like seeing his new friend like this. But even so, he didn't really know what to do or say; he hadn't got much experience in the area.

"If you don't want me to stay here anymore then I understand," The troubled teen whispered.

"What?" John hadn't expected her to say that. "Why on earth would we want you to leave?"

"Look at me John, I'm a mess. A problem. You shouldn't have to deal with me. Don't feel you are obliged to."

"Neither of us feel obliged," Sherlock spoke for the first time since she unveiled her secret, "Lucy, I don't have much experience with this sort of thing- but this doesn't change our opinion of you."

"You don't hate me?" She frowned, confused.

"We couldn't hate you for this," John looked up at her with such gentleness in his eyes, that it almost made the teen burst into tears again.

"I'm not going to judge you," Sherlock told her, "You never judged me when Anderson told you those things about me did you? You decided to form your own opinions. Well, this isn't going to change my opinion, and I'm not going to judge you from this. It's not a weakness Lucy. It's a coping mechanism isn't it? I've read a bit about self injury, and I know how easily it can be to fall into an addiction." Sherlock shifted to place an arm around her shoulder, in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. She leaned into his warm body as John finished tending and bandaging her wrists and arms. The doctor looked up at Sherlock with slight disbelief.

"That's the most emotional thing you've ever said." John said, in an attempt to lighten the mood and relax Lucy. The teenager couldn't help but laugh a little, and the deep grumble from Sherlock just made her laugh more.

"So you're not mad?" She asked, just to be sure.

"Of course not," John told her with a small smile. He still looked concerned though. "Look Lucy, it's hard to stop an addiction. And I'm guessing it's been going on for some time judging by the scars; so I won't tell you to stop- or make you stop. But... please Lucy, in future, come talk to one of us first if you ever feel like this again okay? We will be happy to talk to you. Can you promise that?"

"I'll try," Lucy murmured, "It'll be hard, but I'll do my best..."

"Thank you," John seemed happy at this. "I'll go make us a hot drink." He moved off to go make them all a coffee.

It was a very surreal moment for Lucy. She hadn't expected things to go that well at all. She had expected shouting, hurtful words, and for them to kick her out. But no, this was the exact opposite. She smiled to herself. Having them know was actually quite a relief; now she wouldn't have to hide her secret anymore. In all honesty, she was still half expecting either John or Sherlock to have a go at her, perhaps with another life story deduction thrown into the equation, resulting with her on the streets. She couldn't quite believe their reaction; especially Sherlock's.

For a while they sat, watching the TV as they drank their drinks, having a laugh. It was clear how much Sherlock detested daytime telly, by the way he constantly shouted about how wrong and stupid they all were on a rerun of a popular soap. But it was funny, and it made Lucy feel so much better. Sherlock still hadn't moved from his position, his arm was still around Lucy's shoulder- but neither of them minded.

"Hey Lucy," Sherlock spoke up after the soap had finished. "Can we take a walk for a bit?"

"Uh, of course," she said uncertainly.

"John, we won't be long, twenty minutes at the most, but more likely fifteen minutes."

"Oh, okay," The doctor said, surprised.

"I just want to have a chat somewhere private," Sherlock informed them as he noticed Lucy's worried look. "You're not in troubled," he smiled as he put on his coat again, "I just feel like going for a little walk."

"Okay." Lucy said, standing up as she waved goodbye to John before following the consulting detective into the unusually quiet London street.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

The pair walked to a secluded area in the park nearby Baker Street. It wasn't awfully busy there, so it gave a nice relaxing, peaceful atmosphere. They most likely wouldn't get disturbed here. Sherlock sat on the wooden bench in the clearing, staring at the trees around them; Lucy took a breath before sitting beside him. A gentle breeze whipped Sherlock's hair, the dark curls blowing in the wind; his eyes sparkled slightly as he looked out at the scenery of the park before him.

"Am I in trouble?" She asked quietly, breaking the silence. Sherlock turned his head to look at her.

"No." He answered, his voice even. There was a pause, "Lucy, I'm guessing you're happy to stay, am I correct?"

"Yes, if that's okay..." She frowned, wondering where this was going.

"Of course it's okay." Sherlock seemed to be thinking, "But a lot goes on around me. John's life has been put in danger because of me and what I do; I have been the subject of hate as you witnessed by my... colleagues. You do realise that you may be in danger because of me as well?"

"Danger does not concern me," Lucy smiled wryly, "Besides, I'm sure you'll protect me." Sherlock chuckled once.

"And if I were to say that you could be in danger right now because of the case I'm currently on, what would you say?"

"You mean the case with the cuts on the neck and wrists?"

"Yes," Sherlock's eyes suddenly widened, "Well that would explain how you knew about the cuts..." he added as an afterthought.

"Well in that case, I would say that I don't care," the teenager said, unfazed by the warning as she leaned back against the bench, keeping determined eye contact with the tall man.

"I can't tell if you're just brave or very stupid." Sherlock grinned sideways at her.

"A bit of both I think." There was silence, "So am I really in danger?"

"Maybe, I don't really know as of yet." He answered honestly.

"I'm not stupid Sherlock; I guessed that I wouldn't exactly be having a nice quiet normal life when I came here." She hesitated, "John did have a long chat with me before we came."

"You seem to trust John a lot considering you've only been here a day or so." He noted.

"I trust you as well." She told him. At this, he looked at her with an air of surprise. Lucy laughed, "I'm being serious Sherlock, you're my friend, of course I trust you."

"Friend..." he muttered to himself, the word seeming almost foreign. To think, a couple of years ago he didn't have any friends, mere acquaintances at the most. Now he had two. Ha. He actually had friends. John and Lucy. That was enough for him; two good friends that he could trust with his life.

Did he trust Lucy? Yes. He knew he shouldn't trust so quickly, but she was young, reliable, genuine, he could trust her. After all, he had trusted John as quickly. Sherlock Holmes looked down at the teenagers concealed arms, the skin beneath hidden by a layer or so of fabric. The blood on her hand had been washed, but there was still a little under her nails that she had missed. He thought back to earlier, when he first saw what lay underneath the clothes. The scars... the cuts. A lot had faded, into thin white lines that traced the pale skin of her arms, almost invisible. But it was the more recent ones that stood out. The angry colour of red glared up at him when he saw them, the freshest cuts even had small beads of blood breaking the surface from the friction of her clothing. They marked her arms, and he even wondered if they were scattered in other places. He wondered if her legs or stomach were littered with cuts or scratches. Sherlock sighed slightly heavily, he didn't really know what to say or do. What could one say to such a broken teenager who had lost their parents, their family? It will all be okay. Everything will be fine. No, those typical, predictable sentences full of nonsense were not fitting. Because he knew it wouldn't be 'fine' or 'okay' for her. And it wouldn't be that way for a while. But he knew that he couldn't just stand by and watch her shred her skin, he couldn't let her create more scars. Yes, he wasn't really much of a so called sociopath was he? Sherlock cared. Of course he did. But it is so much easier to say he doesn't than to face the pain and loss that caring can bring. Obviously John would want her to at least try and cut back on the self harming, he was a doctor after all, and he hated to see his friends like this.

"Lucy," Sherlock started again, "You know what John said earlier... about how if you ever feel the need to harm yourself, you were to come talk to one of us first?"

"Yeah..." she said uncertainly, knowing that the promise she made to do with that would inevitably be broken at some point, "What about it?"

"I agree with what he said to do." Sherlock paused, thinking what to say, "And I'm serious, please come talk to one of us. No matter what the problem is, we will be happy to talk. It doesn't matter what time either, you can come to me at two o'clock in the morning and I'd be happy to chat. And even if you think it's for something silly then come to us. And..." He took a breath, "And even if you want to... self harm... and you don't know or have a reason why, then come talk to us. It may help distract you from the need to do it." He gave her a warm smile, "No matter what Lucy, I'm here for you, so is John. Please, don't go through this alone. Talk to us." It was perhaps one of the deepest and moving things he'd ever said, but he was glad he said it. She gave him a small smile, speechless at his genuine kindness. Lucy appreciated all he said, and was quite frankly, touched by every word.

"Thank you," she managed to whisper, just loud enough so that he could hear it. The consulting detective smiled before standing up, pulling his coat around him.

"Let's get back home," he said.

Most of the day had already flown by, and by the time they got back it was evening. John had suggested ordering some Indian food, as he couldn't be bothered to cook, so Lucy and Sherlock ate a little bit. Lucy guessed that Sherlock must have told John what they had talked about while they were out, as the doctor never mentioned it, but she could see that he kept glancing at her as though he wanted to make sure that she was all right.

However, her flatmates and friends had noticed how quiet she was... maybe even distracted. It was worrying, and they both knew what she would do if she feeling down. And she was feeling down. Lucy couldn't describe it... the feeling had come on suddenly. Maybe it was just that she was still overwhelmed by all that had gone on that day, she didn't really know. But there was only one thing on her mind throughout the whole evening: and that was cutting.

And she had a problem. She didn't want to burden Sherlock or John by talking about it to them, she needed a release from it all, and she needed it now. She needed to feel the cool blade against her skin, the pain as it dug into her, and she needed to watch the blood drip out. It was calming. And she needed it. But they'd be disappointed in her. She would have completely ignored what they said, and she hated the disappointment she may face. So Lucy decided that she couldn't tell them, she couldn't let them know. She'd do it when she went to bed.

When she said goodnight to them, she hoped that Sherlock wouldn't realise how she actually went to bed earlier than she usually did. He may pick up on it... but hopefully he wouldn't get suspicious. But she missed the frown and the confused look he gave John as she left the room, in her pyjamas.

"John, she's going to bed earlier than usual," Sherlock murmured once she had left the room.

"Sherlock, Lucy may just be tired, it's been a long day for her I expect," John muttered back as he took a sip of his tea.

"You must have noticed how quiet she was all night." Sherlock hissed, "John... what if she's going to bed early to... get rid of the stress or whatever."

"You think she went early to self harm?" John frowned, the thought seemed odd... but not unheard of. And he felt a pang inside of him, at what she could be doing right now. Sherlock nodded his confirmation. "She said she'd come talk to us..." John seemed a little hurt.

"She has anxiety issues, maybe she was too nervous," Sherlock mused, "Or maybe she was afraid of the disappointment... or she didn't want us to be... burdened with her problems." He sat forward, "Which of course is rubbish. She wouldn't burden me," he murmured as an afterthought. They sat in silence, the idea of what Lucy could be doing making them worried and concerned.

"I'm going to go check on her," Sherlock suddenly announced as he stood up swiftly.

"Sherlock wait!" John said, "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"I'm not taking the chance that she could really hurt herself," Sherlock told him before walking off towards the troubled teenager's bedroom, John was hot on his heels. Uncertainly, Sherlock paused outside the door; did he really want to risk seeing her doing it should he open the door now? He hesitated, but shook his head and grabbed the door handle.

He couldn't help the gasp that escaped him as he threw open the door.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Never before did Sherlock or John think that they'd be this affected by what they saw- and this was coming from those who worked with dead and ill people. Maybe it was because they actually witnessed it happening, and to none other than a friend. But either way, it was truly heartbreaking to see.

As soon as the door had been thrown wide open, the shocked teenager quickly scrambled to hide the blade, the bloodied tissues, and her freshly cut arm. To the doctor's eyes, it wasn't too bad- the cuts weren't deep and she didn't have the time to do it too much... thankfully. Sherlock froze, unsure what to make of it. Deep down he knew they would find her in this state: crying, depressed, terrified and bleeding. But yet, he really had hoped that his suspicions were to be proved wrong. He watched with analysing eyes as she immediately hid the evidence- John didn't seem to notice this quick movement as soon as they entered the room; but Sherlock didn't miss anything. The blade and tissues went under the second pillow for the time being, and he watched as she shoved the long sleeves of her pyjamas back down to hide to the cuts.

She looked frightened, Sherlock noticed, and perhaps... ashamed. Slowly, he began to approach her, with John not too far behind.

"Shit," she mumbled, barely audible.

"It's alright Lucy," Sherlock said, his voice deep and caring. As he came to her bed, he sat beside her; she refused to look at him. "Lucy look at me." He glanced helplessly at John who gave him a nod of encouragement. Apparently John thought he was handling the situation well, but to tell the truth Sherlock was worried he's say the wrong thing- as usual.

"I'm sorry," Lucy whispered. She didn't really know what to say either, she hadn't expected this to happen and quite frankly she hated it. She hated the fact that they knew she broke the promise she made, and she hated the fact that they had to witness that. Why. Why the hell did she have to be so bloody stupid? "I'm so sorry," she repeated, burying her face in her hands.

"Lucy, look at me," Sherlock tentatively took her hands and held them in his; forcing her to turn her head to look at him with tear filled eyes. Sherlock took a deep breath through his nose, stroking his thumb over her small hands before saying: "Its okay Lucy, it really is okay." She just shook her head as John decided to sit the other side of her. The tears of humiliation, sadness and ashamedness continued to fall down her pale cheeks no matter how many times she tried to brush them away- willing them to stop. Sherlock, while still keeping his right hand clutching hers, wrapped his left arm around her shoulder. He'd never done this before, never tried to understand the emotions or let himself get caught in them; but he couldn't help it. Lucy was different, and she needed someone.

"Why didn't you come talk to us?" John gently asked her.

"I was scared," Lucy whispered, her voice choked, "I didn't want you to be disappointed. I'm sorry!"

"Hey it's okay," John reassured her, "We're not angry or disappointed okay? We're just worried about you."

"I don't think either of us truly expected you to talk to us immediately," Sherlock muttered, his voice deep and soothing.

"Can I have a look at your arm please?" John requested, the doctor side of him kicking in.

"No," she said firmly, "It's fine, honestly. It's not bad at all."

"I still want to clean them to prevent infection," he told her.

"He won't give up," Sherlock said with a smile in his voice, trying to relax the teenager. They were silent for a moment in which John got the first aid kit. When he came back, he gave Lucy a warm smile. The tears had stopped falling by now, and she lifted the corners of her mouth slightly. As he sat to her left side again, he looked at her expectantly. She rolled her eyes subtly and sighed heavily as she thrust her arm at him. With quick precision, John swiftly clean the fresh cuts; he glanced at the bandage from earlier- now bloodied- and decided to remove it before bandaging her arm again.

In the short time it took for him to do this, Sherlock had just let Lucy lay her head in his chest. It seemed to comfort her, he noticed, being in close proximity of someone. Maybe it was because she had no parents, she had been on her own for so long and perhaps she was truly grateful that she now had people who liked her and would look after her. Six months ago her parents had died, she never saw them being killed but she witnessed the aftermath. Sherlock truthfully thought it was strange, but right now it was their daughter who was suffering the most- and both he and John had to make sure that she would be okay. That she would make it through this rough patch alive.

"Done," John announced as he pulled her pyjama sleeve back down.

"Thanks I guess," Lucy replied with a small smile.

"Do you want to talk about it?" John asked softly after a pause.

"No," she shook her head, her voice quiet, "Not now."

"Okay, but remember we are both here if you ever need to talk."

"I know," She smiled, "Thanks."

"Well we better leave you to go to sleep," the doctor stood up.

"I'm going to stay," Sherlock suddenly spoke.

"What?" Both John and Lucy turned to look at him.

"I'm going to stay with you tonight," he told Lucy, his piercing eyes were gentle. She didn't protest, but instead, just nodded in understanding.

"Goodnight Lucy," John murmured. But then he turned to Sherlock, "A word please."

"Night John... thanks." Lucy replied as the consulting detective followed John out of the room.

Once outside the teenager's bedroom, John quietly shut the door and moved away so Lucy couldn't hear. "What are you doing Sherlock?" He asked his friend, with a slight hint of confusion in his voice.

"What do you mean?" The detective looked surprised.

"You're going to stay with Lucy the night," John stated.

"Oh," Sherlock realised. He took a breath before quietly explaining: "I didn't think it would be a good idea to leave her on her own, not in the current state she's in. I know where her blade is, most likely she is now hiding it again, but I didn't want to chance the risk that she would harm herself again. And... She needs us John; more than she realises. Her parents are gone, for months she had no-one. It's our responsibility to look after her. I like her John; my intentions aren't bad I assure you." Throughout Sherlock's little speech, John had been listening carefully.

"I wasn't accusing you." He murmured, "I was just... pleasantly surprised by how genuine you are being. You've never been like this before."

"I know, I can't explain it."

"Maybe it's something called emotion?" John suggested with a grin.

"Don't be stupid John I know it's hard for you but please try. Emotion... what a preposterous thought." Sherlock smiled back; but John couldn't help the bubble of laughter that escaped him.

"Well, I'll see you in the morning," John bid him goodnight as the dark haired man went into his room quickly to get changed.

The room was still dark, but he could see the outline of the young girl lying in the middle of the bed. She was still awake as she glanced up at him as he entered. Sherlock strode over to her, "Shift over," he murmured as he climbed next to her. Lucy noted that he was now wearing pyjama bottoms and a grey t-shirt as he settled himself into a comfortable position.

"You don't have to stay here you know," she told him.

"I know, but I rarely sleep. Besides, I want to make sure you're going to be okay."

"Thanks," She mumbled appreciatively.

"Are you okay?" Sherlock queried.

"I'm fine." Lucy shifted her head on the pillow, "Did you want to get under the covers?" She asked, after all, it wasn't the warmest of nights. He shook his head, but wrapped his arm around her shoulder again. They ended up taking pretty much the same position as the previous night- with Lucy leaning on his chest and with his arm around her.

The room was quiet all apart from the street traffic and the gentle pattern of Lucy's breathing as she dreamed in her slumber. Sherlock was still, his eyes closed but he was perfectly awake. The text he got yesterday said 'Are you ready for the next part of my game?' And yet, he hadn't heard a word. No new bodies found. Nothing. It made him bored; he had hoped for at least one more body to have been found. But no, nothing. How dull. They weren't any closer to catching the killer, as they left no clues to find him. The police still hadn't managed to find the serrated knife, but that didn't mean they wouldn't find it. Not that there would be many if any clues that came with it; the murderer was too clever for that. Ooh it was rather fun wasn't it? Sherlock was getting a good run for his money, but he would not be beaten. All he had to do was wait... not patiently as he couldn't do that... but he could wait. He was getting played with, he was a part of a game, one of which he would win. The killer was taunting him: leaving him little notes at the scene of the crime, texting him on occasion. But what was the motive? And why bring Lucy into it? He had sent a text the other day 'Are you and the girl enjoying my game?' But what did Lucy have to do with this? He frowned, clearly they were being watched. How else would the killer know that she was living with them? That didn't concern Sherlock though, he had worse happen to him- but it bothered him that Lucy was put in significant danger because of this. Not that he would let anything happen to her or John for that matter.

It was a little after midnight when a small beep and vibration brought him out of his thoughts; his eyes flashed open and immediately fell on the phone on the desk. Being careful not to wake Lucy, he reached over to retrieve it. Finally! A single text:

Are you bored? Did you expect to hear from me sooner? All good things come to those who wait though, Sherlock. I think Lucy will like this next move. Enjoy x

Sherlock read the text twice before he put his phone back down. Glancing at the sleeping girl on his chest, he sighed slightly. He wondered what was next in store for them, but he knew that whatever it was, it was going to put both of their lives in even more danger. Not a moment after he put the phone down, did it vibrate again and beep. With a confused expression, he picked it up again and opened the text. But it was different; this one was a picture... He clicked download and waited a second before opening the file. The photo had been taken during the daytime, and it was a picture of a street in London. At the time it was taken there were no people around, so it looked very peaceful and quiet. The houses that lined the street were two stories high and rather large- with big driveways. They looked expensive. Sherlock knew where these houses were, but why would the murderer give him a clue? With caution, he went to send a text in reply, voicing his question:

Why give me a clue? –SH

He waited a beat for a reply, and he was not disappointed:

Even I get bored.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Sherlock was getting a little impatient by seven in the morning, usually he would have let Lucy sleep for longer- but the fact that they now had a clue and something more to go on made him anxious to be out of the flat and off to the street in question. He'd taken to stroking her hair gently for the rest of the night as he mulled over the clues, facts and what lay ahead of them today; but now he'd decided to drum his fingers impatiently on the wooden desk beside him. From the other room, he had just heard John walk downstairs to make himself some breakfast and his usual morning cup of tea. Looking back down at the peacefully sleeping girl, Sherlock –being extremely careful- manoeuvred out of the bed from underneath Lucy. He had the teen partly in his arms at the end of this, and so he gently laid her back down without disturbing her at all. The detective sighed and smiled slightly at the sight before noiselessly exiting the bedroom. On his way, he stopped off into his own bedroom to put on one of his many dressing gowns and ran his fingers through his dark, curly hair.

John Watson was sitting down in his chair munching on some toast and jam when Sherlock entered the living room- for John couldn't eat in the kitchen what with the numerous amounts of experiments everywhere. He looked up at his flatmate with a smile as Sherlock took the seat opposite him. "Morning Sherlock," John said after swallowing his mouthful of toast. "Is Lucy still asleep?"

"Yes, I left her for a bit." Sherlock waved his hand in dismissal, "I got a text last night."

"Good morning John, how are you? Oh I'm fine thank you. I had a lovely sleep thank you," John joked at Sherlock's lack of normal chatter.

"Hilarious," he just rolled his eyes and huffed in slight annoyance.

"Sorry, couldn't help myself," John tried to suppress a grin, "A text?"

"Yes John a text I just said," Sherlock got his phone out, "From the murderer." He withdrew his phone from his pocket and showed the doctor- who frowned as he read it.

"Wait, what? Sherlock, how the hell does he know about Lucy?" John hissed.

"I don't know." Sherlock admitted, "I've had a couple of these texts now. One before mentioned the girl living with us- but it's only now he or she is using Lucy's name."

"And why would the killer involve a teenage girl?" John raised his eyebrows as he took a sip from his mug of tea.

"Maybe because she's living with us." Sherlock suggested.

"Shit Sherlock, what if she's in danger..."

"She probably is," Sherlock shrugged- enraging his flatmate.

"How the hell can you be so calm?" John almost yelled.

"John, you got put in danger because of me remember? I told Lucy yesterday that she was probably in danger- she was fine with it actually. And... It's not like I'd let anything happen to her. I didn't let anything bad happen to you did I?"

"I almost got blown up," John angrily took a bite from his toast.

"But you didn't. I wouldn't have let it happen. I protect my friends John. I'll protect Lucy."

"You better." The doctor sighed.

"But that wasn't the only thing the killer sent me," Sherlock muttered, John looked at him expectantly so he continued; "I received a picture last night." He held out his phone for John to have a look.

"That's a street of houses."

"Brilliant observation John, how did you do it?" Sherlock queried, earning a sarcastic look.

"Hang on... I think I know where this is. Yeah, it's about a fifteen minute drive from here." John murmured, thinking hard.

"Good, we're going there today." Sherlock informed him.

"Have you told the police?" John asked pointedly.

"Urgh, not yet." Sherlock groaned. John continued to glare at him, "Fine I'll text Lestrade now."

"Call him."

"Must I?" Sherlock pouted, John just raised an eyebrow- making Sherlock sigh in defeat.

"Well I'll go wake Lucy." John said, finishing his tea.

"Uh huh, be ready to go shortly." Sherlock said absentmindedly as he dialled the number for Lestrade. With a grin he added, "Could be dangerous."

Fifteen minutes later, Lucy joined the two men in the front room. Now fully dressed in long sleeved clothing and black skinny jeans, the teenager smiled as she greeted them. Sherlock was busy rushing about, he himself was fully dressed in a white shirt and black suit clothing; he shrugged on his usual coat and wrapped a dark blue scarf around his pale neck.

"I've called Lestrade; the police should already be there." Sherlock informed them.

"How will they know what house to go to?" John queried.

"They'll be searching, seeing what ones are abandoned and all that." The consulting detective shrugged. John had briefly informed Lucy of what was going on, she hadn't seen the photo, but there was no point showing her as they were now about to leave to go to the street. "Let's go, are you ready? Good, no more time. Hurry up!" Sherlock had started running downstairs before he had even finished his first sentence, and ended up shouting up the stairs to his laughing friends. And, by the time they got outside, Sherlock had already hailed a cab, apparently told the cabbie the address and was sitting in the vehicle looking expectantly at his friends.

"Eager much," John muttered jokingly to Lucy as they shut the door of 221B Baker Street and joined their friend ready for the journey.

The taxi ride there wasn't a long one. Sherlock didn't utter a single word; instead, he took to drumming his fingers again while staring out the window. John explained to Lucy that he was usually like that on a case. "So what's so special about this street?" Lucy asked after a few minutes of a slightly uncomfortable silence.

"I'm not too sure myself," John admitted, he glanced sideways at Sherlock, hoping for an explanation. The detective raised an eyebrow and rolled his eyes.

"The street in which we are going is the one in the picture the killer sent to me. It's a clue... of some sorts. I'm presuming we will find something there that will get us one step closer to finding him... Obviously." Sherlock told them, "But, Lucy, the text I receive informed me that you will 'like this next move,' so I'm hoping you'll be able to help us."

"Uh, I'll do my best." She said uncertainly.

The first thing they noticed as they neared the street was the police officers. Several officers and cars were placed around the street, and they had taped off the section the photo contained in hopes of searching and finding something. Sherlock threw a couple of notes at the taxi driver before promptly dashing out of the taxi up to the security tape. Lucy and John followed at a much slower pace, much to Sherlock's annoyance. Under the tape they followed their friend where Lestrade was waiting for them. Suddenly, Lucy gasped.

"What is it?" John queried, frowning.

"I know this street," she murmured, barely audibly. Sherlock and Lestrade turned to face her, surprised at the recognition.

"How do you know it?" The consulting detective asked. She looked up at him and John with wide eyes. With a shaking hand, she lifted her arm and pointed it to the one house that was now filled with police officers.

"What about that house?" Lestrade pressed, he too was confused.

"Have they found something there?" Lucy ignored their questions.

"Yes, we've found something," The detective inspector confirmed.

"Lucy," Sherlock pressed, knowing where this was going but wanting confirmation, "What about that house?"

"I used to live there." She whispered, "That's where my parents died."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

" _Lucy," Sherlock pressed, knowing where this was going but wanting confirmation, "What about that house?"_

" _I used to live there." She whispered, "That's where my parents died."_

Sherlock's eyes widened in understanding, now the text he had received made sense. The killer was toying with them, taunting them, and it had just become very personal.

"You used to live there?" John said in slight disbelief. The teenager nodded her head, "So you had a lot of money?"

"Yes, my parents had a nice sum of cash," Lucy mumbled, "In fact I inherited it when they died." She seemed a little embarrassed, "That's why I was happy to help pay the rent at 221B, I have the money."

"Lestrade," Sherlock suddenly addressed the police officer, "What was it you found in that house?"

"Well... we found the knife." Greg sighed.

"In my house?" Lucy looked shocked.

"Yeah, it was serrated and covered in blood. It was left lying in the rather spacious kitchen... like it was just waiting to be found." The police officer shrugged.

"It was waiting to be found," Sherlock Holmes muttered, "The killer is really playing the game, finding ways to involve Lucy, I'm not sure why as of yet though. I'm guessing that's the only thing you've found so far, so I'm going to have a look." He started striding off with John, Lucy and Lestrade right behind him. "Make sure you get a fingerprint analysis on the knife, although I highly doubt you'll find anything."

Just before they reached the driveway, Sherlock paused suddenly and turned to Lucy. In a low voice, he started speaking to her, so only she could hear.

"Where was it that your parents were roughly killed?" He asked a little too bluntly.

"About there," Lucy covered a flinch and led him to the left in the approximate spot.

"The killer's were never found were they?" Sherlock questioned.

"No, they weren't. Why do you ask?"

"Well, I was wondering whether the people who murdered your parents are the same people murdering these new victims. Maybe as a way to taunt you perhaps?" Sherlock gave a half smile, "It's just a theory, I wouldn't worry too much right now."

Once they made their way inside the house, Lestrade took them to the kitchen where the knife was found- it was still laying there obviously so Sherlock could have a look without getting annoyed at the fact that it would have been moved. He glanced at it, noting the blood stains- some were older and some were newer, but he moved on from it quickly to have a look around. There weren't many items, as Lucy must have either sold them or given them away- however a few things remained. Greg had a notebook out and pen poised at the ready for when Sherlock decided to share information with them.

"That knife is the one that's been used, judging from the different stages of blood stains. However it's not a knife from this kitchen as no knives from the knife set that is left are missing. It's unlikely we will find much else in this room though so follow me and don't talk." Sherlock swept round and stalked out the room- with his black coat billowing behind him. He started to look around the front room of the house, and noted that the DVD player was turned on whereas everything else had longed been turned off. Walking over, he pressed the eject button and found a disc in there; it was one of the Harry Potter movies. But the case for the disc was nowhere in sight. "Lucy, where did you keep your DVD's?" Sherlock asked quickly.

"We used to have them in my old room, but there shouldn't be any there, I got rid of them." She frowned, "So that's where my Harry Potter disc is." The teen muttered.

"You couldn't find it?" John queried.

"No," She sighed, "I cleared most of our stuff out two months back. I had a decent collection of DVD's all in order in their sets. But that film was missing from my Harry Potter set. I had no clue where it was... And I swear I turned the DVD player off." She ran a hand through her hair, "In fact I know I turned it off."

"Take us to your old room," Sherlock requested.

Up the staircase and down the hallway Lucy led them to a closed white door; she hesitated in front of it, turning back to look at Sherlock, John and Lestrade.

"You should know that my room was completely bare when I left it." She told them, "I gave almost everything away to charity and sold the rest. So there shouldn't be anything in here."

"Wait," Lestrade said as she went to open the door, "Tell us what your room looked like when you last saw it- so if it's changed we will all know."

"Okay," Lucy leaned against the corridor wall, "Well it was just... bare. When I left it, the room was just a large square with laminate floorboards and ivory coloured walls. In the centre of the white ceiling hangs a light bulb." She paused, thinking, "To the right is a rectangular window, that covers a good portion of the wall and it looks out over the driveway and onto the street. That's about it really."

"Okay, go on then," Lestrade gestured for her to open it. Lucy glanced at Sherlock's neutral face before opening the door.

Everything was how she described it.

But there was something different. Something that was visibly noticeable.

On the wall directly opposite the wall were two words, painted in what appeared to be blood.

SHERLOCK.

LUCY.

One word below the other, each word was written in block capitals. Small trails of blood were contrasted against the white wall from where the blood had started to drip down.

"Holy shit," John murmured as they stepped into the room.

"Whose blood is that?" Greg thought aloud.

"The victim's. That's why there was a lack of blood at the crime scene. Clearly he collected some." Sherlock told them, he frowned.

"That's disgusting," John mumbled. Sherlock strode towards the wall, but paused, glancing at the window sill to his left hand side.

"Oh, there's the DVD case." He walked over to the window where a Harry Potter film case was propped up against the window. Sherlock inspected it before picking it up and proceeded to open it carefully. Inside, was a scrap of paper that read:

'The abandoned warehouse number 13, by the river, tonight at 10. Remember, you're not the only one who gets bored.'

Sherlock put the disc back into the case, not alerting the other's of his find. He would tell John and Lucy later, but not Lestrade- the police would mess it up. Besides, Sherlock had a feeling he knew where this was going, and Lucy was getting too involved for him to let the slow, useless police try to sort it out.

"Find anything?" Lestrade asked as he eyed up the blood on the wall.

"No," Sherlock lied expertly, "Must have just been a coincidence." Lucy looked at him with a confused expression, so the consulting detective gave her a 'trust me, play along' look.

"I must have forgotten it was there or something." Lucy shrugged, playing along to fool the police officer, "Never mind eh?"

"You sure?" Lestrade looked a little confused.

"I've seen all I need to see," Sherlock announced, avoiding the question, "Let's go."

"Sherlock!" Greg called after him.

"Get an analysis on the knife, you won't find anything but there's nothing else here." Sherlock yelled back, already running down the stairs.

Once safely outside, and away from where the police were standing, Sherlock led his friends to the next street.

"What was that about?" John asked as they came to a standstill.

"I found something," Sherlock told them, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the paper. He showed it to Lucy and John. Lucy nodded in understanding, realising why Sherlock didn't want the police to know about it.

"You bloody idiot," John exclaimed, "You need to tell the police, this could be valuable."

"No John," Sherlock said, "Lucy is getting very much involved in this, too involved for the useless police to take forever finding out what is happening. The killer left this for us, not for them. If the police were alerted to this and turned up at that warehouse, we could lose one of our only chances." He took a breath, "We all need to go there tonight. This is very much for Lucy as it is for me. I'm not sure what we will find there tonight but whatever it is, we will need it. I can't see why the killer will reveal himself already, the game is too elaborate for that... No. He's going to keep giving us clues. And if he does turn up, we most likely won't be able to see him," Now Sherlock was rapidly speaking his thoughts. There was a pause of stunned silence, "I need to speak to Mycroft."

"What?" John almost laughed at this sudden statement.

"I could use his surveillance skills," Sherlock growled, as though he hated to admit he needed his brother.

"I'll give him a call then," John muttered.

"Sherlock," Lucy bit her lip, "This warehouse... What if it's the one that my parents were found in?"

"That's what I was thinking," the tall, dark haired man said, "It's a game. And he's enjoying watching you relive it."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

By the time Sherlock had easily hailed a cab, John had already spoken to Mycroft- who would be promptly awaiting their arrival back at 221B Baker Street.

"You never go to your brother for help." John stated on the ride home.

"Yes, well he can come in handy on occasion." Sherlock muttered, shrugging indifferently as though it wasn't a big thing. "And he'll do whatever I request... within reason."

"Why would he?" John Watson frowned, confused at the new information on the Holmes' brothers' relationship.

"Because we are family, he does care believe it or not. I'm the only family he's got; mummy always wanted him to look after me like a big brother should." Sherlock smirked, "Besides, he seems quite taken with Lucy and he likes you John. Should either of you be in danger he'll be sure to help."

"Well that's news to me," John shifted so he wasn't squashing Lucy quite so much in the slightly cramped back of the taxi.

"Of course we are bitter rivals," Sherlock suddenly decided that it was important to reiterate that point.

"What?" Lucy exclaimed in confusion, "You just made it sound like you are the best of friends and now you say he's your rival?"

"Make your mind up Sherlock," John grinned.

A sleek black car was parked not too far from the front door of 221B; alerting them to the fact that Mycroft was, indeed, already in their flat.

"Mycroft's here," John said.

"Stating the obvious," Sherlock muttered, earning himself a sigh and a glare. After they unlocked the door, the three scaled the stairs up to their flat where the older Holmes' brother was sat drinking tea with Mrs Hudson. Of course Sherlock decided to make a comment:

"I do hope you haven't given him too many cakes Mrs Hudson, once he starts he can't quite stop as you can see from his appearance." Mycroft shot his brother a withering look, but ignored him.

"John, Lucy, lovely to see you again." He greeted in his formal way.

"Hello Mycroft," Lucy smiled at him. John greeted him in the same way. "Hi Mrs Hudson." She bent down to give their landlady a welcome hug.

"Oh Lucy dear, how is everything? Settled in?" She asked.

"Yes I have thank you."

"Are you surviving living with those two? I don't know how you do it, all the experiments in the kitchen. I keep telling them I'm not their housekeeper, but I always end up cleaning up anyway." She looked over fondly at her other two favourite tenants.

"It's certainly never dull round here," Lucy grinned and joked: "And they're not too bad. It's bearable."

"Mrs Hudson," Sherlock spoke, "As lovely as it is to see you, could we have some privacy?"

"Oh yes, of course," The landlady took her cue to leave, as everyone said goodbye.

"I suppose you haven't called on me for a brotherly visit?" Mycroft guessed, running his fingers absentmindedly around the edge of his tea cup.

"You know where we've just come from," Sherlock muttered as he flung himself into a seat, "John make me some tea."

"Please," John prompted.

"Yes, that, thank you." Sherlock ignored the prompt, but he said 'thank you' so John complied.

"Do you want one Lucy?" John asked.

"Yes, two sugars please," she requested.

"At least she has manners," The doctor mumbled under his breath- but audible enough for them to hear. Sherlock just shifted to glance at his friend fleetingly before going back to looking at his brother.

"In answer, yes, you've just come from Lucy's old home." Mycroft said.

"How do you know where we've just been?" Lucy queried, looking surprised and confused at how he knew what they were doing.

"I have my people following you lot." Mycroft casually said as though it was perfectly normal to do this sort of thing, "I have to make sure my little brother doesn't get himself and you into too much trouble." Lucy just nodded, thinking to herself that she should be used to the Holmes' strange ways by now.

Once John had brought Sherlock and Lucy their tea, he too sat down and listened as Sherlock proceeded to briefly inform Mycroft and catch him up to what was happening with the murders. He showed him the note that was left for them in the Harry Potter film case. The consulting detective also gave Mycroft his theory on the fact that the killer could be the same person that killed Lucy's parents, and that if the warehouse was the same one in which her parents were found- then there was a possibility that the teenager was in danger considering the fact that a murderer was playing a rather sadistic game with her.

"This could get very dangerous, very quickly Sherlock." Mycroft raised his eyebrows.

"Yes, I know. Which is why I'm asking that you keep a few of your people near us at all times tonight."

"I can do that. What else is it you need?"

"Surveillance. We need as much surveillance as possible around the area. I wouldn't usually do this, but it's getting personal with Lucy." Sherlock told him, glancing at the teenager once.

"Very well. I don't know how many cameras will be stationed there at the moment. But if you like I can get some of my people down there right now to set up some in and around the warehouses." Mycroft suggested.

"Yes, that would be great." Sherlock agreed. "That's all we'll need."

"I'll give them a call in a moment. But Sherlock, for goodness sake, be careful. If you need anything, if you get either yourself or John or Lucy into trouble go to one of the cars and call me. I'll have three cars near you at all times, one for each of you should you get split up." This had to have been the most caring thing John had ever heard Mycroft say.

"Thank you," Sherlock thanked his brother with kindness that surprised his brother, John and Lucy.

"Well I best be off," Mycroft announced, setting his cup of finished tea on the table as he stood up, "I have some people to call and a country to run. Be careful tonight. Goodbye Sherlock, John, Lucy." He smiled at them in his usual way before taking his leave.

"Bye Mycroft," John and Lucy said, whereas Sherlock just nodded at him.

"John, where's your gun?" Sherlock asked.

"In my room," he replied.

"You have a gun?" Lucy frowned.

"Have to be able to protect myself when around this thing here," John teased as he poked Sherlock, who glared at him in protest.

"Each of us should take a gun tonight," Sherlock thought aloud as he paced around the room, "Like Mycroft said, we need to be careful."

"You can't give Lucy a gun!" John exclaimed.

"She has no other way to protect herself from a killer." Sherlock shot back. "I have a couple in my room that I pinched from the police at Scotland Yard."

"And what if I get kidnapped anyways? What if they sneak up behind me?" Lucy sighed.

"Then you only have to hope that one of us is with you and that it doesn't happen." Sherlock said.

It was about five in the evening when Sherlock started getting ready, he was slightly on edge, like he was just waiting for something to happen. He'd already shown Lucy how to use a gun, much to John's annoyance. But because Lucy didn't want to kill anyone, the ex army doctor advised her how to shoot the legs and feet so that they would be unable to chase after her. Every now and then, Sherlock either glanced at his phone or checked his watch, anxiously counting down the minutes until they would leave at nine o'clock. John and Lucy had gone out to grab something to eat with Mrs Hudson downstairs. Sherlock, of course, refused to eat anything; he was on a case and he couldn't let something as trivial as digestion slow him down.

Not long after his friends went downstairs, did Sherlock's phone beep with a text message. He frowned at it as it interrupted the peaceful quiet of the flat. With caution, he picked up his phone and opened the message:

I like this little game of ours, and Lucy is such a good player. Unless she breaks down. Warehouse thirteen... it's an unlucky number after all.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the text. Another beep broke through the silence, this time it was a picture message. With a frustrated huff, Sherlock downloaded the image before looking at it.

The picture was based in what Sherlock assumed was the abandoned warehouse, it didn't look like much. It was deserted and left void of pretty much anything, not that you could see much due to the fact that it was pitch black. But Sherlock noted, with growing anticipation, that in the middle of the room it looked like two bodies had been placed there. If they were bodies, then it would be safe to presume that this was the warehouse in which Lucy's parents were found. With a spring in his step he raced downstairs to find John and Lucy, when another text came through. Sherlock looked at the phone in confusion; he never received that many texts or clues from the killer. The message read:

Leave now. I can't wait.

Sherlock stopped in his steps in shock, before swiftly barging into Mrs Hudson's flat. John, Lucy and his landlady turned to look at him in surprise.

"John, Lucy, we're leaving now," he announced, "I just got a couple of texts." He went to go out the room back up to the flat, but realised that they were still sat there in confusion and shock. "There's no time to explain. We need to leave now!"

As they hurriedly got ready for the hours that lay ahead of them, Sherlock had to wonder whether they would all come back in one piece. With a glance at Lucy, he knew that the killer was out to break her, and that nothing would stop him from hurting her until she could no longer cope. Maybe that was his plan. A cut to the neck and wrists. Maybe that was a taunt at her self harm. Either way, he had to protect Lucy. She was far too vulnerable; and John knew this too. If things went badly wrong, it may be Lucy who would be lying on the morgue table with a cut to her neck and wrists. But no. Just no. He was the great consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes. And he would be damned if he let some stupid killer get the better of him.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13 (they're visiting warehouse 13 on chapter 13... oh wow)

Night was rapidly approaching. Dark hues obscured the once bright light of the day as the stars and moon took claim of the night sky. Unfortunately, it seemed to give a somewhat eerie edge to the impending danger. Of course, it could turn out that the killer wouldn't show up, and would merely leave them with the bodies and nothing more. But that didn't seem his style. Oh no, this one liked the game. He relished the satisfaction of proving his skills, and loved to show off. Sherlock wouldn't put it past him (or her for that matter) to show himself, albeit fleetingly, just a teaser for what would be to come.

On the way out of the flat into the cold streets of London, the trio were slightly relieved to observe three suspicious looking, sleek, black cars parked ominously across the street; each, slightly farther apart from the other two as to avoid being too inconspicuous. To many people it would mean nothing, to a few, it would seem odd but nothing anyways. However, to Sherlock, John and Lucy, it meant Mycroft was on his game as well. It meant imminent protection should they need it, cover, if they needed a place to run to. The cars followed the cab they were in, the drivers doing their best to not make it seem like they were deliberately following them. Sherlock had ordered the taxi driver to stop a few blocks away from where he knew the warehouses were based. Mycroft's cars, on the other hand, carried on driving.

"Remember, once inside, don't talk," Sherlock reminded them for what felt like the tenth time that minute.

"We know," John muttered matching his pace to that of the detective's long strides.

"We have to proceed with caution," Sherlock carried on anyway, "Should we alert them to our presence too soon we may miss a rare opportunity to catch them. Stay close to me, and if you lose sight of me, stay close to one another. It's imperative that you are with someone at all times, especially Lucy. I'll be fine on my own of course- but I prefer to know where you two are. If you split from each other, then immediately either do your best to find each other within a few minutes; failing that, go to one of Mycroft's cars."

"Where did the cars go?" Lucy asked in a small voice, her tone shook with anxiety.

"Just there," Sherlock answered as they rounded the corner, pointing a slender finger.

They were now in full view of the warehouses that were placed in the open concrete grounds with evidence that a wired metal gate was once place around it. Some warehouses were smaller than others and each had a numbered sign above the entrance. Most were made from metal or something of the sort, others were made from bricks. All of them looked barren and as though they hadn't been in use for some time. The moonlight shone down, illuminating very few dark corners where the lights around the grounds didn't reach. One would hate to be alone there. On the street they had turned into, were the three black cars that were now stationed in position should their assistance be required. They were parked opposite the warehouse site in the shadows, so inevitably their presence was hidden from the lack of lighting as the vehicles lurked in the inky blackness.

Sherlock stopped for a moment, seeming to debate something in his mind. He reached inside his coat pocket for his phone.

"What are you doing?" John asked, his voice a hushed whisper.

"I'm phoning Lestrade," The consulting detective replied with a hint of reluctance.

"What on earth for?" His flatmate was confused, "You never want to phone him."

"I need to alert the police in case this goes wrong. Just listen to the conversation." It was then that Sherlock decided to put the phone on loudspeaker- but he turned the volume down so it was just loud enough for his companions to hear.

"Hello?" Greg answered after a couple of rings.

"Lestrade, I need you to do me a favour." Sherlock spoke.

"Sherlock?" The DI said, confused, "What is it?"

"If I don't message you within the next hour, come to warehouse thirteen."

"What? Why? Where's that?" Poor Greg was clearly at a loss as to what was going on.

"Warehouse thirteen, the one in which Mr and Mrs Patterson's bodies were found."

"Lucy's parents? They're her parents?" Lestrade exclaimed. "Shit, but why?"

"It's to do with the recent murders." Sherlock said, annoyed, "Look if you don't hear anything from me within an hour, go there."

"Why are you there Sherlock? Is it to do with what you found in that house? I knew you found something you idiot."

"Look, trust me, this could go horribly wrong if the police are to get involved which is why you aren't here now. This is about Lucy and me, it's a personal game."

"Are you going to explain it?"

"Later," Sherlock growled. "Just, will you do that for us?"

"Fine," Lestrade sighed, "But I'm expecting a bloody good explanation."

With a beep, Sherlock hung up on the least idiotic member of the police force. He took a breath and put the phone back in its pocket. Looking at the wide eyed faces of his two friends, his gave a half smile as he signalled for them to follow him. None of them said anything as they made their way onto the grounds of the warehouses.

The three noiselessly worked their way around each dilapidated building to find a brick warehouse with the number '13' placed high above it. They paused just short of it. Sherlock glanced around him and observed the security cameras Mycroft's men had recently placed. There were five in total, one he noticed on the main entrance to the grounds, the other four in positions around the specified warehouse so that none of the building went unseen by the watchful eye of the cameras. No doubt there were more inside, but he would worry about that later. He glanced back at Lucy, whose face had turned an unhealthy white- although in the circumstances it was understandable. Her hand was drawn up to her face where she seemed to be lightly biting the skin. It appeared to be a slightly unconscious action, but John (who had also noticed this) was giving her worried and concerned glances. But both men knew it was down to the anxiety that currently plagued her young mind.

With a deeper breath than usual, Sherlock Holmes started forward, into the opened door of warehouse thirteen, with John Watson and Lucy Patterson not far behind.

It was dark, extremely dark and it took their eyes a while to adjust to the sudden difference in light. At least outside they had the lights and moon to illuminate the world around them, but the grubby windows of the building let barely any light through. They had walked into a single room, the only room in the entire warehouse. Obviously it was of a considerable size, large and wide. A staircase across the room led to a strong wooden walkway on a higher level that extended all the way around the room; this was supported by numerous pillars in a neat line around the inside of the building. As on the ground, it was incredibly dark up there, and for all the three flatmates knew, there could be several of killers hiding in the shadows up there. The darkness was dangerous; it gave the killer an edge. The three proceeded with caution into the open a little more, each walking very close to each other in a line. As they got closer to the middle, they realised that there was something on the floor.

Sherlock recognised it as what he presumed were bodies from the picture he received earlier. And, on closer inspection, he was proved correct. Two adult bodies, one male, one female, lay very much dead in the room- that is, if they were even real.

"What a beautiful night." A female voice suddenly said, the voice echoed in the deserted building. It was, however, a recorded voice. Sherlock frowned at this.

"Who are you?" He called out.

"Do you want to play a game?" The female recorded voice said again. Lucy suddenly gasped in horror, tears starting to trail down her cheeks.

"I said who are you?" Sherlock shouted, hearing Lucy's gasp and wondering what she knew.

"Let's play, Guess Who." This time, it was a male recorded voice. At this, Lucy's knees seemed to buckle as she fell to the ground, her head in her hands, sobbing. With realisation, Sherlock's eyes widened; the recorded voices were the voices of Lucy's parents. John had knelt down to attempt to calm the distraught teenager, but he looked at Sherlock with an expression of confusion.

"Who is doing this?" Sherlock said, getting angry, "How did you get Lucy's parent's voices on record?"

"It's just a game." The male recorded voice spoke again. As soon as the sentence finished, a blinding spot light was cast down upon the two bodies in the middle. Lucy cried out as the face's of her parent's glared up from their place on the cold stone floor. Sherlock's mind was a whir of thoughts. How had the killer gotten the bodies? Had he used face masks? Each body had been presented as the news had shown it, with a single bullet hole to the head. But something didn't seem right, they were real bodies. The bullet hole, although it looked convincing, was not the size the particular bullet would have made if it had entered- it was far too small. So it was a fake body. Sherlock's eyes narrowed. But it was an odd mistake to make- so maybe it was purposeful, to toy with him. Also, the only way the killer could have gotten the recordings of the voices would be if he had set up a microphone recording in their house in the time that they were still alive. After all, the way they said the words seemed like how people would just talk to one another if they did want to play a game. Unless... Sherlock's eyes widened. But before he could say anything, a voice spoke up from somewhere in the room (although he couldn't place where, but it was likely he was up on the wooden walkway), though this time it was a voice he recognised. That voice, he was wondering when he'd hear it again; it sent a wave of both anger, and interest through him.

"Oh how I've missed our little games Sherlock."

"Moriarty." Sherlock growled the name with both a hint of excitement and distaste.

"It's been a while huh. Missed me?" He taunted from the shadows.

"What do you want?"

"Oh come on now Sherlock, haven't you missed me? Not even the tiniest bit?" Moriarty teased, "I bet Lucy has."

"Lucy doesn't know you. Show yourself!" Sherlock yelled.

"I recognise his voice," Lucy said softly, still on the floor in despair.

"You must remember me. I'm Uncle Jim." Moriarty sang the last sentence in his usual sing song way. Lucy gasped with realisation, and fought to keep her breathing under control.

"How do you know her?" Sherlock demanded, slightly confused.

"Oh, her parents were naughty people. I like naughty people." You could practically hear the sadistic grin in Jim Moriarty's voice, "But never mind that, Uncle wants to play!"

"He's a bad man Sherlock," Lucy hissed, fear in her voice, "He made my parent's do bad things."

"You parent's did bad things themselves," Jim roared, "They came to me to help to do even worse. They enjoyed it." His voice turned sing song again, "But they hurt Uncle Jim's feelings. They stole from me. No one steals from me." His voice had turned sinister and threatening, "I made sure they paid."

"You killed them?" Lucy yelled, incredulous.

"Oh, sweetie, I didn't kill them," He mocked, "Just like I never killed any of those people you lot have been looking at recently."

"What do you mean?" Sherlock was getting frustrated, while John just didn't know what to do or say. He was saddened that Lucy had the misfortune to have known Moriarty beforehand- for a while it seemed, and to hear all this wasn't going to help her mental state.

"Her parent's never loved her." Jim said, uncaringly, "They said they did but it was all lies!" He sang gleefully at Lucy's pain, dancing around in the shadows to avoid detection, "They preferred crime to their daughter. How does that feel?" He laughed, causing Sherlock to snarl.

"We love you Lucy," the recorded voice of the mother sounded, followed by the same sentence in her dad's voice.

"Stop it!" Lucy yelled.

"Leave her alone!" Sherlock said in defence of his friend.

"Oh but I love to torture," Moriarty laughed, "I'm enjoying this game. You'll be hearing from me Sherlock."

"So you killed all those people just to taunt Lucy?" Sherlock yelled in outrage.

"Honey, I may be the king of my profession, but I don't like getting my hands dirty." Footsteps sounded as he started walking away, "Get her Seb."

The spotlight vanished, and the sound of a door opening and closing signalled Moriarty's exit before Sherlock launched off, sprinting after his enemy.

"Sherlock!" John yelled, getting up. But he was shoved violently over by a masked individual; with a thud he fell to the floor and groaned as he attempted to get up. Having bashed his head slightly, he was a little disorientated, and his vision blurred.

"John!" Lucy screamed out as she was roughly grabbed, her voice became muffled as something- most likely a rope was swiftly tied around her mouth with expert precision. A gunshot sounded out, and one of the men near Lucy cursed loudly and violently before yelling from pain.

"The fucking bitch shot my leg," the gruff voice said, "Just get her away Seb." So this 'Seb' was still unharmed. But John, in his stupor, felt a burst of pride in the poor teenager. She had been traumatised enough this evening, but had still gone on to fire an ace shot, just as instructed. However, the sound of a gun hitting the floor sounded out as John's vision cleared. It had taken approximately fifteen seconds for him to become fully coherent, but as soon as he could see and move straight again, he was horrified to witness a bulky, tall man- presumably Seb, dragging the teenager away. Lucy- whose limbs had been bound- could do nothing as she was taken away. John yelled out and ran towards her- but he was tackled by another of Moriarty's henchmen.

With bitter realisation, John thought that they must have snuck in and hid in the shadows, biding their time to attack. They hadn't been careful enough.

"Lucy!" John called her name, but it was useless. The man went to punch John as he got up, but the ex army doctor dodged with ease and sent a punch to the man's nose- breaking it. John brought his elbow down on the man's shoulder, and kicked the back's of his knees- bringing him to the floor. The man attempted to swing round, but John grabbed the pressure points at the back of the neck and shoulder region. He squeezed, as he the sick bastard's eyes closed in pain, holding on long enough would make him pass out- so he did so. With a bit of left behind rope, John bound the man's limbs and just left him there as he hurriedly ran outside to find Lucy.

It had been almost an hour; Lestrade would be coming soon- thank God. But there were no signs of where Lucy or Seb could have gone to. With a sinking feeling in his heart, he reckoned that she had most likely been taken away. Kidnapped. But what for? Moriarty loved to torture, maybe that was his plan?

"Shit." John mumbled. His heart broke for the poor kid, and adrenaline coursed through him, wondering what to do now. He saw the three cars across the street and wondered how on earth they didn't notice her being taken away.

Footsteps were rapidly approaching; someone was running towards him. John swivelled round, ready to fight again, but the person held up their hands.

"It's me," Sherlock said, frowning, "Moriarty got away, I don't know how. Where's Lucy."

"I don't know," John could barely get the words out, too scared for his young friend, "She was taken by 'Seb.'"

"What?" Sherlock said uncertainly with disbelief.

"I got attacked; my head got bashed so I was disorientated. She fired a shot at a man and put a bullet in his leg," Sherlock smirked at this, but John carried on, "She got bound and gagged, and I was attacked before I could stop it." The doctor's voice got choked at the end.

"There was nothing you could do," Sherlock murmured. He looked around, "But surely Mycroft's cameras or cars picked it up."

"Apparently not."

"Let's get to one of them, before anything else happens- although I doubt it will." They hurriedly set off. "Where is the bloke who attacked you?"

"Bound and gagged on the floor of the warehouse." John answered bluntly.

Sherlock couldn't believe it- or understand it for that matter. But some feeling inside him told him that it hurt. That he hadn't protected Lucy like he perhaps should have. He only hoped that whatever Moriarty planned to do with her wouldn't damage her more than she already was.

They both got into the back seat of one of the black cars parked outside.

"We need to call Mycroft," Sherlock said to John, "You call him." John set about dialling the number as Sherlock now spoke directly to the driver, "It didn't go to plan, we need to wait here until DI Lestrade arrives." He informed him. The driver just nodded and said:

"Whatever you need Mr Holmes."

"Did none of you see anyone leave? You didn't see Lucy with any of Moriarty's men?"

"No sir, we didn't see a thing," The driver was confused but didn't press the issue. The detective nodded and sighed.

John started explaining very briefly to Mycroft as Sherlock got his own phone out to call Lestrade.

"Sherlock," The DI answered, "I'm already on my way with a few officers, it's been an hour."

"We need you and... them," Sherlock admitted with distaste for the rest of Scotland Yard, "It went wrong."

"You bloody idiot, what happened?"

"Moriarty happened." There was a silence of horror, "They kidnapped Lucy. I do believe the kidnapper is one Sebastian Moran."

"Shit," Greg cursed, "We'll be there in five minutes, explain then."

Sherlock hung up just as John finished speaking to the elder Holmes brother. Both flatmates had the same worried look on their faces, although Sherlock did an expert job of quickly hiding it.

"Your brother is on his way," John muttered, "He's pissed. He doesn't know how it happened. Apparently there were a few brief blackout periods on the cameras, he doesn't know how; he said that it would take a lot to override the surveillance there. Moriarty would be capable but he doesn't know how." He sighed, "Could they have escaped the other side considering the guys in the cars didn't see anything?"

"It's all river that side... oh," Sherlock stopped, "The river..."

"They escaped by boat?" John frowned, "Doesn't seem very Moriarty-like."

"But it means that he'd avoid detection," Sherlock raised his eyebrows. They sat in silence, unsure what to do next. "I don't know how this happened," Sherlock seemed very angry with himself, "How did I let this happen? Stupid. Stupid." He told himself, "Now she will probably get hurt because of me. We have to find her."

"It's no-one's fault," John sighed and rubbed his face, "If Moriarty wanted to do it, then he would do it regardless."

"What if she gets worse?" Sherlock growled, "Her mental state isn't going to be perfect is it?"

"We will do whatever to help her. But right now, we need to find her." John found himself surprised by the display of emotions.

At that moment, a torrent of police sirens sounded as several cars whipped around the corner onto the same street as the two friends. They stopped near Mycroft's cars and Sherlock saw Lestrade get out- but he groaned when he saw Anderson and Donovan of all people. But nonetheless, he and John got out and walked towards them.

"Look what you've done now freak." Donovan greeted them.

"Piss off," Sherlock snarled with ferocity that shocked all of them.

"Donovan, enough," Lestrade warned her, he turned to the other officer's, "Everyone over here now." He turned to Sherlock and John "If you can tell us what happened, the sooner we can get to finding Lucy."

They turned to stare as a black Mercedes pulled up next to them. Mycroft Holmes stepped elegantly out of the car with his trademark umbrella, a cryptic expression on his face.

"Well now that everyone's here, we might as well start," Sherlock said bitterly as his brother joined them.

"I already have our best people looking for her," Mycroft informed him.

"It won't be enough though!" Sherlock suddenly yelled, "She's still going to get emotionally hurt. She's under the capture of Moriarty and his bastards. God knows what will happen to her. What if she turns up dead? What if she gets badly injured? This shouldn't have happened in the first place, it's my fault she's been taken." Everyone was stunned into silence at this outburst, "We needed to have prevented this, or have found her now. We can't ensure she'll be fine."

"Wow, the freak has emotions," Sally joked half-heartedly.

"Fuck off." Sherlock spat.

"Sherlock calm down, you're of no use to Lucy in this state." John tried to calm his friend down. Sherlock looked at him, his very first friend. And instantly shut up, he felt a bit embarrassed at everyone hearing that, but decided to spare his dignity for later.

"Fine," the consulting detective started, "I guess I better tell you what happened," back to his usual self he added, "If any of you idiots can write I suggest you take notes because I highly doubt that any of your brains have the capacity sufficient enough to even remember your own names let alone whatever I say."


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

For once, the police officers were quiet as they listened to Sherlock's brief but informative account of the past few hours' events. While they kept their faces composed, John couldn't help the flashes of pain and guilt that crept onto his usually calm expression.

"We expect that they escaped by boat on the river opposite," Sherlock ended, "After all, Mycroft's cars didn't see anyone exit the grounds." With a frown, the younger man turned to his brother: "Speaking of which, why on earth didn't your cameras pick up anything?"

"I'm not entirely sure," the elder Holmes' started with a sigh, "The cameras all around had two brief moments of blackout. First of all, when we expect they entered the building, and second when they took Lucy. The screens that were being observed went static before losing signal for several moments before being restored again as though nothing happened." He looked down at his umbrella as though it was incredibly interesting.

"Right," Lestrade shouted to his team, "We need half of you to search the river, get a speedboat if necessary, we don't know how far they would have travelled. Some stay on land. Everyone else search the warehouse grounds for any clues; footprints etcetera."

Just as the police were about to set off to work, Sherlock's phone went off with a message. Everyone hesitated as he took out his phone. With a tight voice the consulting detective read it out loud:

"Don't bother looking. I'll be done with her very shortly." Sherlock winced.

"What could he mean by that?" John asked quietly.

"Well it depends on what he will be 'done' with," Mycroft muttered, leaning on his umbrella.

"What if she gets raped?" Sherlock suddenly murmured, going through all the possibilities in his mind as to what Moriarty could mean.

"Sherlock," John warned gently, "It's unlikely he'd do that."

"But it's a possibility," he countered, unintentionally snapping at his friend. The police team were motionless, watching the exchange. They jumped as Sherlock's phone beeped again. There was a pause, "It's a video of some sort." Sherlock told them, not wanting to see what the video contained but needing to see it anyway.

"Play it," Greg said, "It could be of some use to finding her."

"But he said that there was no point in looking," Sherlock sighed, "Presumably we won't find her until he lets her go."

"Play it anyway Sherlock," Mycroft ordered, earning himself a withering look. Regardless, everyone (including the police force) crowded around Sherlock's mobile phone to get a look at what had been sent. John placed his hand in an attempted comforting action on his flatmates arm; his friend didn't shrug it off, but instead gave him a rare half smile of genuine gratefulness. It worried John a lot by how affected Sherlock seemed to be- but then again, he would react the same if it were John. With a tentative touch, he pressed the button for the video to play.

A room, concrete by the looks of it appeared on the small phone screen. Its colours were a dull, repetitive gray; and in essence it was entirely unfriendly looking. But never mind the room itself with its one window covered with bars letting through little light; what was in the centre of the room facing the camera was what was upsetting. Lucy was sitting alone, tied to an uncomfortable wooden chair by her legs and arms. Her mouth was no longer gagged though, but the state she was in was pretty awful. The teenager looked terrified, her face was pale and her eyes were darting nervously around the room.

Sherlock stared emotionlessly at the video, but inside, he knew it hurt. John had clenched his fists by now and gritted his teeth to avoid shouting in rage.

Suddenly a voice emitted from the mobile's speakers.

"Smile for the camera," Jim Moriarty sang as he entered the room, still hiding in the shadows. Lucy's head turned at a fast pace to look at the man now entering the light beside her.

Sherlock, John and Mycroft grimaced at the face they knew so well. The police force –especially Lestrade- knew who Moriarty was, but with professionalism they maintained their mask- showing little emotion for now.

Moriarty grinned and gave a sarcastic wave to the camera positioned in the room. But he turned sharply to the frightened girl:

"Don't think of uttering a single word or I'll make this worse for you." But then his smile came back, "They can see you, you know. Your little friends are watching this as we speak."

"It's a live stream," Sherlock growled to the police force.

"Right everyone off now!" Lestrade yelled at the gathered officers, "Do the work I told you to do and find her!" They all left quickly and Lestrade once again turned his full attention to the live stream.

"Enjoy the show!" Jim said cheerfully to the camera before patting Lucy on the head like a dog and taking his leave.

Not a moment later, an unnamed man entered the room, stalking towards the teenager in the chair with a threatening stance.

"That's Seb." John whispered.

The man- Sebastian Moran- stared at the shaking girl with a wild ferocity in his malice filled eyes. Silent, but deadly, he came up behind her and said (just loud enough for the audience to hear back at the warehouses):

"The boss wants you to suffer; embarrassment, guilt. Your secret will be revealed for your little friends to see." Sebastian withdrew a pair of scissors- presumably from his pocket and began to cut away at Lucy's long sleeved top. With horror, Sherlock, John, Mycroft and Lestrade watched on. Her flatmates knew what was coming but even they found it hurt the same each time they saw it. First, Seb started with the arms, one after the other, the sleeves were cut off and fell into a pile on the floor exposing her skin. He paused at the bandages underneath before mercilessly ripping them off. Then, surprising the consulting detective and his blogger, and cut away the stomach part of the clothing- so it now looked very much like a crop top.

Cuts were exposed to the four people watching the phone. Many were red, others were scars. Not only were they littered all over her arms- but on her flat stomach too. Together they traced an unexplainable pattern on her skin- a story almost. Lucy audibly whimpered- doing her best to avoid protesting so that she didn't make things worse for herself.

"Jesus." Lestrade murmured, looking sadly at the live stream.

"Did you know about this?" Mycroft asked both his brother and John.

"We did," John answered for them, his voice quiet and sad.

"How have your 'people' not found her yet Mycroft?" Sherlock suddenly shouted.

"They're doing their best," his brother assured him.

"They aren't trying hard enough." The younger Holmes' said bitterly.

Lucy tried to keep her breathing even in an attempt to control her anxiety and the panic attack that threatened to overwhelm her. She hated knowing that they were watching her, staring at the scars on her marred skin. Chances are it wasn't just her flatmates watching either. She winced, watching with scared eyes as a man named 'Seb' walked around her. The footsteps suddenly stopped. There was a pause in which Lucy tensed her whole body.

The wait was unbearable.

"Aaahh!" Lucy screamed out in absolute agony as a metal pipe whacked into the skin of her arms- opening up the healing cuts, making beads of blood come to the surface, trailing down her white skin. Her eyes widened at her mistake.

"I thought my boss told you not to talk!" Seb snarled before striking her legs. Lucy bit back another scream- but it turned out to be more of a choked sob. Cringing at the thought that her friends were having to watch this, she glanced at her arms and assessed the damage. It wasn't too bad, it had opened up all fresh or scabbed cuts, and would most likely leave a bruise (the same for her legs) but nothing was broken... luckily. She closed her eyes and bit her lip and cheek hard as a way to endure the following hits on her arms and legs. Each was as painful as the last- if not more. It felt like hours she had been sat there getting beaten, but only a few minutes later she opened her eyes as it stopped. Lucy's arms were red and stinging; her legs were undoubtedly the same. She let out a breath which almost sounded like a mixture of a whimper and a hiss.

"Did you enjoy that?" Seb taunted.

"Fuck off." She retaliated, but groaned as she slipped up yet again. Seb glared at her and muttered something that sounded like 'cocky bitch' before walking into the shadows and picking up something that scraped against the concrete floor. As he came back into sight, Lucy noted, with horror, that he now held a jagged edged knife in his hands- not unlike the one found in the kitchen of her old house.

"You have two options," Seb started, his voice gruff and menacing, "Either you cut yourself or I cut you. You can speak."

"Not much of a choice," she snapped. "I'm hardly going to do it myself am I?" Seb raised an eyebrow.

"You fucking emo freak," he muttered. But nonetheless he untied her hands, "One wrong move and your dead." Holding out her arm he pressed the edge of the knife on the topside- away from the big veins. Lucy sucked in a deep breath as he jabbed the knife in, dragging it across with agonising slowness. He seemed to sickly relish the torture. Lucy cried out as he drew it up and out with a flick. "Shut up," he growled. This time, he flipped her arm over, so that the pale underside was facing upwards. The blue veins were just visible, and it gave him a sadistic smirk. A little below the wrist, he repeated the action.

"Ah stop!" Lucy cried out, unable to control her screaming any longer.

"No, you should be used to it after all." Seb said, smirking. No trace of compassion in his cold voice. At this, she flinched and cried out as it caused the knife to go deeper. Blood was freely flowing down her arms as he chucked away the knife, satisfied with his two cuts.

"Why are you doing this?" She moaned.

"The boss wanted entertainment for this evening, and to hurt your pathetic friends." Suddenly his eyes went bright, "Looks like it's time for the video. Don't think of moving." He laughed maniacally before taking his leave. In front of Lucy, projected on the wall was a video. She briefly wondered how everyone else would be able to see this, but then realised that there was most likely another camera angled to get a look at it.

Lucy felt the tears flow down her cheeks as he parents appeared on the screen. She fought back the dizziness and the darkness, determined to get through this. The angle of the camera that was fixed on her parents gave the impression of a hidden one, but even so, it had a good shot of the two.

"She's in the way." Her father- David- muttered to her mother- Lily. "She's holding us back. He said we could do great things if she wasn't here."

"And you believe everything Jim says?" Lily asked critically.

"Lucy is a hindrance." He snapped, "Having to look after her means we can't get the money we need." Lily's eyes widened in realisation, and her hand flew to her face.

"You idiot! You were the one that stole from Jim!" She gasped, "We're going to be killed."

"I'd rather kill Lucy," he mumbled, uncaringly, "If it weren't for her I wouldn't have had to."

"You don't love her?"

"Of course I don't." He yelled. David's eyes narrowed, "Don't tell me you are letting sentiment and love for that thing get in the way."

"I feel the same as you," she murmured, after a painful pause. Although it appeared she regretted the words, she shrugged and smiled. David noticeably sighed in relief before walking out.

The video flickered before turning off. All that could be heard were Lucy's broken sobs as they wracked her body, the tears failing to cease trailing down her pale cheeks. Everything she had known... was a lie. Her heart and stomach had dropped. It was like her body wasn't even hers. The world was spinning. Lucy's captors never wanted to do much physical damage- but it was the emotional damage that they truly wanted to inflict...

And they had won.

She couldn't breathe. The surreal feeling of the situation made it seem light a horrid dream. Black clouds started to obscure her vision. Not that it mattered anymore. She just wanted to fade away. To feel nothing. She was numb all over.

The teen was aware of someone entering the room and the voice of Jim Moriarty said:

"Let her go." Before someone- presumably Seb- picked something up.

A sickening thud sounded and there was a blinding pain in her head before Lucy welcomed the darkness of unconsciousness with a surge of gratefulness.

No one knew what to say. Not Sherlock, not John, not Mycroft, not Lestrade. No-one. It was deathly silent. And to make matters worse, still no-one had found the location of her; and for that matter, the forensic team hadn't found anything either. There were reports of a boat leaving the warehouses, but no-one had seen or heard anything else. What was there to say? They all felt anger, outrage... and sadness. How would she cope? This was going to break her. All the four could do was stare at the now blank phone. They were like that for a good five minutes.

"Where do you think they've taken her now?" Greg asked, his voice tight.

"They'd have let her go," Sherlock said softly as he pocketed the phone. He took a step back running his hands through his hair and letting out a big breath.

"She'll need to go to the hospital," Mycroft informed them, saying something they already knew but wanting to break the silence before it inevitably happened.

"No." Sherlock shook his head firmly, "She would hate that."

"I'll look after her," John spoke up, wiping a stray tear from his face, "I have plenty of stuff at home."

"Are you sure?" Mycroft raised his eyebrows. John nodded determinedly, so the elder Holmes' nodded his agreement. But he turned to his brother, "Since when did you care about anyone?" He asked with genuine curiosity.

"Since I got myself two friends- John and Lucy." Sherlock said, trying to smile but failing as it turned into a grimace.

"Thanks," Lestrade muttered sarcastically, attempting to lighten the mood. Sherlock glared at him.

"And an... ally on the police force," He added as an afterthought, feeling the need to show the DI that he did hold some sort of liking for him. Greg smiled in surprise, but Sherlock quickly said: "That's enough emotion for one year, let's go do Anderson's work for him."

When Lucy awoke, it was still dark. She was laying on the floor in the middle of a secluded alleyway, most likely in London. Everything felt sore and stiff. She'd taken a nasty blow to the head, so she had to close her eyes as a wave of dizziness washed over her. Tentatively, and very slowly, she stretched her aching limbs. Nothing was broken thankfully, but she's lost a bit of blood. However, the cuts had stopped bleeding a while ago, so that was a bit of luck. She wouldn't die. After a few minutes she stood up, letting the dizzy feeling fade before she started to get out of the alley. A glance at her phone in her pocket that had miraculously remained intact, told her that she had been unconscious for roughly forty minutes.

Once out on the street, she was relieved to note that she was only a few streets away from the warehouses. It was lucky she paid attention to the route the cabbie took them. So, on shaky legs, she set off to the warehouse grounds where she prayed the police were still working. It took her only a few minutes to get to the last street before the buildings, she was doing her best to hurry after all. Lucy wanted nothing more than to see the faces of her two only friends, and to go home. With a deep breath she rounded the corner.

Numerous police cars were stationed by the grounds. Mycroft's cars had gone, but there was a single black car further down the street- which probably meant that he was with the police and her flatmates. Limping over, she kept her breathing even. The young teenager refused to think of the events the previous hour had held. She refused to even consider thinking about the video. It hurt. It hurt a lot.

She almost started crying with joy when she saw Lestrade, Mycroft, Sherlock, John and some forensic officers outside warehouse thirteen. They hadn't yet noticed her so she continued to move towards them. The searing pain caused her to wince, but she didn't care, she just wanted her friends. Once she was close enough to hear the consulting detective arguing with someone she recognised as Anderson, she called out:

"Sherlock!" She called his name, her voice was hoarse and her tone gave the impression that she would break down any second. Their heads whipped around to look at her as she approached.

"Lucy!" They all said her name in relief as they rushed over. She felt herself collapse in the arms of John and Sherlock.

"Lucy, are you alright?" Sherlock asked, worried.

"Are you okay?" John murmured even though he knew she wasn't.

"Sherlock... John..." She could barely get out their names as the tears began falling once again. In their arms she broke down.

"Mycroft, we need to get back to 221B," Sherlock said.

"I'll go with you, my car is parked opposite," Mycroft said.

"We'll wrap up here," Lestrade told them, he turned to where Lucy was held in John's arms, "Good to see you're here." He smiled gently, unsure what else to say. Lucy managed a smile of gratitude for the kind DI officer. Mycroft nodded to Greg as he led the way to his car. After a few steps, Lucy's legs collapsed beneath her in exhaustion and from pain. Without even thinking, Sherlock caught her and picked her up in his arms, carrying her to the black vehicle.

"I'm so sorry," he murmured to her.

"It's not your fault," she mumbled tearfully.

"I should have protected you like I've been able to protect John."

"It's not your job."

"I'm your friend," Sherlock whispered, "John and I should take care of you."

"Friends shouldn't do that." Lucy disagreed.

"Family should," John joined in.

"You guys are my family," Lucy wiped away tears, "I never had any real family it seems." Her voice choked before she started sobbing.

"Sherlock." Mycroft said his brother's name as he opened the door- gesturing for him to get himself and Lucy in.

Once safely in the car, John began looking at her wounds. But much to Sherlock's shock, he got a text. With a fire in his eyes that he had never felt before, he read the words on the screen:

I enjoyed that. Better catch the killer though, they might strike again. Xx –JM

Why are you doing this? –SH

I like to watch people break –JM

Tomorrow, I suggest you check the warehouses thoroughly, Lucy might find a little treasure she likes xx –JM

Sherlock glared at his phone as though his look alone with kill Moriarty. But for now he would have to play along with his game, and attempt to avoid hurting Lucy even further.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Detective Inspector Lestrade let out a breath of air and ran his right hand through his thick hair. He watched as Lucy's knees collapsed, and looked on with surprise as Sherlock caught her and carried her back to the awaiting car. It had been a rough night for both John and Sherlock, and in all his years of knowing the consulting three year old he had never known him to get so upset like that. Yeah he acted like a child sometimes and spouted all this – 'I'm a sociopath,'- stuff; but from tonight, Greg saw the true human emotions come out of him. The inspector half smiled. A couple of vibrations from his pocket alerted him to the fact that he had just received a text message. Wondering who it could possibly be, he withdrew his phone and read the text:

You need to thoroughly search ALL the warehouses, and I mean thoroughly –SH

Greg frowned, why did Sherlock always have to be so mysterious? But he replied anyways:

We will do, but only if you tell me why –GL

I just had a text from Moriarty. He said that tomorrow we should check the warehouses thoroughly because 'Lucy might find a little treasure she likes.' Whatever it is should already be there now. –SH

Any reason why you don't want to do it yourself? –GL

I don't want Lucy to get hurt even further, knowing Moriarty this 'treasure' won't be a chest full of happiness. And she needs me and John to be with her. She could hurt herself badly after what's happened tonight. –SH

Greg was surprised with how honest he was being. It must be Lucy bringing out the normal side in him. But at the mention of the last part, Lestrade frowned slightly, worried for the troubled teenager's safety.

We will wrap up the search tonight and start looking in the morning... Do you think she'll be alright? –GL

I don't know. –SH

Greg sighed as he put his phone away, his officers that were patrolling the river had already gone back- so he walked over to his group of policemen who had worked at the warehouses and told them that they were wrapping it up for the night. Looks like it would be fun and games in the morning, he thought sarcastically to himself.

Mycroft didn't say anything on the trip back to Baker Street. He didn't need to. He knew the severity of what had happened of course, but an overwhelming speech from him really wasn't on the cards tonight... or any night. It wasn't his brother's fault it had happened or John's for that matter. They'd been careful even by Sherlock's standards. On the ride back, Mycroft sat back in his seat, glancing at the wing mirror to look at the people in the back of the car. John had looked her over, and had determined that she would need stitches in the cuts Moran had made; not many though, just a few. Sherlock had also shed his Belstaff coat and had helped Lucy into it once John had finished looking at her. It was massive on the girl, but it did the job of keeping her warm and hiding the remains of her top. Sherlock didn't seem to mind much; in fact he seemed quite proud of himself that he sacrificed his beloved coat for her.

Once they arrived at Baker Street, John helped Lucy out of the car and went inside, helping her up the stairs. Since Mycroft wanted a word with Sherlock, John decided that he would start stitching and treating Lucy's arm. Sherlock looked at Mycroft as his brother joined him in the back of the car, the older Holmes' instructed the driver to just drive around- nowhere in particular- for a bit.

"What do you want?" Sherlock huffed, but his face softened just slightly, "Thanks by the way." Mycroft nodded in mildly surprised acknowledgement of his brother's gratitude.

"I wanted to tell you that it would probably be best if Lucy were to not go to any more crime scenes related to this case." Mycroft said, looking at his brother seriously.

"Why?"

"Because Sherlock, it may not be very good for her health." He sighed, "She self harms, tonight is going to affect her for a long time in a very bad way. The video he showed her was meant to hurt her emotionally. She'll easily forget the physical pain, but that's mainly because the emotional pain is so great- it could very easily take over her."

"What if she wants to go? What if she wants to help? Because this involves her, she should have a right to this." Sherlock argued.

"Sherlock," Mycroft started, trying to find the words to make his brother understand, "Hasn't she already been through enough? She's just found out all her parents told her was a lie. She never had any true family. If this carries on the way it is, her emotional state is going to get worse. That will mean her self harming will get worse. It is for her own good. Leave John to look after her if you go to a crime scene maybe, but you have to think about what is best for her."

"Why would I have to do that?" Sherlock snapped.

"You need to look after her. She's living under yours and John's roof, you have a responsibility."

"No I don't." Sherlock looked confused.

"While you may not be a legal guardian, you care enough to look after her Sherlock." Mycroft told him. There was a silence in which Mycroft knew his brother understood.

"Fine," Sherlock muttered, but then he looked thoughtful, "What about that thing? You know social services? Won't they realise she has no parents?"

"I can bend things Sherlock," Mycroft smirked, "You know that. Neither you or John will have any trouble of the sort." The car started slowing down before coming to a standstill outside 221B Baker Street.

"Thanks I guess," Sherlock said neutrally.

"Take care, of her and yourself."

Sherlock glanced at his watch as he entered the building; he and Mycroft had been driving around for around twenty minutes- time flies. Sherlock scaled the stairs and walked into the front room. John was sat on the sofa, by the looks of it he had just finished tending to Lucy's arms and they were now chatting quietly.

"Hi," John greeted as he saw his friend enter the room. The consulting detective launched himself onto his chair, his hands steepled under his chin. "What did Mycroft want?"

"Nothing," Sherlock lied, "Just wanted to say something on some past matters."

"It's late," John said to Lucy, "You should go to bed; you look like you need it." She just nodded and got up to go get changed and ready for bed. Once she was out of earshot, John turned to Sherlock again.

"What did Mycroft really say?" He asked knowingly. Sherlock glanced at him before shifting to face him properly. He briefly gave an account of their conversation. John seemed to be contemplating what had been said throughout, but in the end he nodded. "I agree with Mycroft to be honest," he said.

"Really?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"He does have a point Sherlock," John said gently.

"I know," The consulting detective admitted, "But how will this work? She has a right to know what is going on."

"Then you can do all the investigating, and tell her about it. Maybe take pictures if there are any new bodies, so that she can give her own theories... I don't know." John suggested, "Just things that mean she won't get badly affected like tonight. We're supposed to keep her out of danger, for the rest of this case... I think we need to do that."

"What will she do when I'm off investigating?" Sherlock asked.

"I'll be more than happy to look after her," John said, "We can't leave her on her own for too long, not at the moment. You'll just have to survive without me." He grinned.

"Okay," The dark haired man leaned forward in his chair, "Let's not say anything though." John nodded in agreement, both falling quiet until Lucy returned.

She had taken longer than usual, both flatmates noted, and they also noticed how she kept her hands occupied. Her hands would clench and unclench- or her fingers would tap an irregular pattern on her leg. It was something to attempt to keep herself from resulting to her addiction. Sherlock knew the signs.

"I'll stay with you again tonight," Sherlock said.

"No." Lucy firmly disagreed, not making eye contact.

"Lucy..." John started, but she interrupted.

"No, I don't need constant supervision. I lived on the streets on my own for several months." Her voice was getting louder, "I think I can survive the night on my own."

"Lucy," John started again, he struggled to find the words but he kept them sincere and honest, "You are a danger to yourself." John kept his voice soft, "You could badly hurt yourself if you are left on your own. I can't, in good conscience, let that happen. I care."

"You don't understand," She snapped, "How the hell do you think I feel? I just found out that my parents never liked me! I found out that my dad wished I was dead! How the fuck am I supposed to cope with that?"

"Lucy calm down," John said gently- but it was no use. The teenager was now letting out all her built up anger, sadness and emotion. Which could be seen as good. Sherlock kept quiet, and just observed Lucy and John, unsure how he could help.

"How can you tell me to calm down?" She practically shouted, furiously pacing up and down, "Six months ago, my parents died- at least then I thought they loved me, I could live with that. I lived on the fucking streets, too scared to go to social services. Then I get fucking kidnapped, beaten, cut open by a stranger. And then I watch a video showing and telling me that my parents hated me and that they wished I was dead because I hindered their criminal prospects." Tears were flowing down her cheeks, but she didn't stop, "And now, I apparently need constant supervision, even while I sleep- just in case I cut myself. Bullshit. You can't just take that away from me! I need it! You don't understand! I can't cope without it! And you're trying to take away the one thing that could keep me sane. It's fucking bullshit!" At this she turned on her heel, and in her anger, violently punched the wall. John and Sherlock had jumped up by now, worried for Lucy. Just after she punched the wall, John had brought his arms around her and pulled her back to stop her from hitting the building more. "Get off of me." She cried. But being a strong ex army doctor, John dragged the struggling teenager back and pushed her gently onto the sofa.

"Lucy, calm down." He repeated. He was glad she had let out her emotions, but punching the wall really wasn't a good thing. John didn't know what to say, he hadn't any words of comfort. He couldn't say 'it will be alright' because it wouldn't. And deep down he knew she was right about the self harm, it was her coping method, and he was taking it away. But he couldn't let her do it, knowing how badly she could hurt herself. Glancing at the hand she hit the wall with, he noted that it was red and it was bleeding very slightly- but it would stop very soon. He knew she would get even angrier if he were to try and treat it- so he didn't say anything. Instead, Sherlock spoke up:

"Come on, let's get you to bed." He moved towards the door, looking at them.

"You aren't staying with me," She told him.

"Fine." He shrugged. Sherlock signalled for both his friends to follow, as he was getting tired of waiting.

Lucy got into bed, ignoring the two men in her room. The dark haired man sat on the edge of the bed, debating what to say.

"If you want to sleep on your own, then fine," he said in his deep voice gently, "But by doing so John's trusting you to tell him if you need medical attention." He tried to find a good way to phrase it but it came out wrong. Luckily John spoke up:

"I understand where you were coming from with what you said earlier, and perhaps it was wrong of me to want you to not do it. But it's understandable why I wouldn't." He sighed, "I just care too much I guess."

"It's fine," the teenager mumbled, now much calmer than before. "Sorry I punched the wall."

"I'm sure the wall won't hold a grudge," Sherlock said, earning a snicker from his flatmates.

"Anyway, goodnight Lucy," John said.

"Goodnight John, night Sherlock," she said as they left the room. Sherlock looked back at her and gave her a small smile before walking out.

Lucy waited until they left before getting out her blade and tissues from her hiding place. She set it down in front of her, rolling up her sleeves as she would do. She knew the routine well. But after she rolled up her sleeves, she found herself just staring at the white tissues and the silver glint of the razor blade. And for the first time in a while, she hesitated. For several minutes she found herself just staring at the objects in front of her. Unsure where this uncertainty came from, she sighed and ran her hands through her soft hair. Maybe it was because she didn't want to let John down. She wasn't sure at all. Looking at the blade with a frown, she picked it up and felt it in her hands. Holding it, she dragged it very lightly across her arm once, twice... five times. But she put it down again and placed everything back in its hiding place. Her arm had five scratches on it. None of them bled. It was strange; she hadn't just done mere scratches in ages. She sighed again as she settled down to go to sleep for what little remained of the night.

Sherlock saw how tense John was as he set about making himself and Sherlock a cup of tea.

"You're worried," Sherlock observed.

"I know," John grumbled, "Can't blame me can you?"

"She'll be fine."

"How would you know?" John raised an eyebrow, "Enlighten me."

"Well it's to do with the psychological thing I said. We pretty much said that she could do... it... if she really wanted to because we understand that she may need to. By showing how much we trust her, she may want to not disappoint even more than usual so she will be less likely to hurt herself as badly, so that way she wouldn't alert us to the fact that she had done it." Sherlock explained, "But then again, I'll know if she had either way."

"Uh right, that's... interesting." John processed this information, having heard that sort of thing being done before, "How would you know if she had?" At this, Sherlock just raised his eyebrows and with a smug smile he said:

"Because I'm Sherlock Holmes."


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

The sun was already shining through the gaps in the drawn curtains, basking Lucy's room in shades of yellow by the time she woke up. A quick glance at her watch told her that it was eight in the morning. Knowing the it would be pointless to try and go back to sleep, she decided to get into the ensuite shower- she had only managed to have a wash last night and was currently feeling dirty.

The hot needles of water rained down her beaten body. Purplish bruises had already formed across her legs and arms, indicating the severity of the beating she had been subjected to the previous night. In all honesty, she didn't feel rubbish about being beaten; the thing, however, that really got to her was that bloody video. Closing her eyes, she let a couple of tears fall. Just as she turned off the shower there was a knock on the door. "Shit." She gasped, jumping at the sudden and rather unexpected sound.

"You all right Lucy?" John's voice sounded.

"I'm fine," she said incredulously, "Why are you asking, go away."

"Just checking," he mumbled, "I was worried when you weren't in your bed."

"John, please, I'm fine okay, now please leave so I can get changed in peace." Lucy almost started laughing. Although his concern was annoying, it was rather endearing.

"Oh, um, yeah, sorry," he muttered as he walked off. Lucy chuckled to herself as she got out of the shower and changed into some black skinny jeans and a t-shirt with a long sleeved top underneath.

But suddenly she gasped to herself, "That's where I've seen him before." She murmured to herself. She had recognised his face last night, when he kidnapped her, when he beat her. Although she hadn't known him, she had seen that face before. Sebastian Moran.

Sherlock looked up at John with a raised eyebrow as the doctor came out of Lucy's bedroom.

"You could have told me she was in the shower." He grumbled as he sat in his chair.

"It wasn't a hard deduction," Sherlock said. John just ignored him. Bored of sitting down for so long, the consulting detective jumped up and went over to his desk. So far he had a picture of each of the two victims and a picture of the bodies in the warehouse, and a picture of the blood on the wall in the house. They were now looking at a murder, assault and kidnapping. He knew it was in mocking of Lucy- but there was something that had been bugging him for a while. How would the killer have known from the start that Lucy was going to be with Sherlock and John? He had a video of her parent's saying how they hated her for Christ sake! The killer would have had to set that up six months ago before her parents died. What are the chances that Lucy would end up living with them?

"Sherlock," Lucy's voice startled him out of his musings. He glared at her; he never liked being interrupted. But a glance at her face told him that she had something important to tell him.

"What is it?" He said, now interested as he watched her sit on the sofa.

"Last night, I didn't realise at the time," she started, running a hand through her soft dark hair, "But I recognised him. I recognised the kidnapper."

"Who? Jim Moriarty?" John frowned confused.

"No, I knew Moriarty before anyway but that's not who I'm talking about." She shook her head and looked at their inquisitive faces, "Sebastian Moran."

"You recognised him?" Sherlock asked, his eyes widening.

"Yeah, I recognised his face."

"Where from?" Sherlock had a half smile on his face. If her answer was what he thought it would be, then all of his recent musing question will have been answered.

"John, the day I came into the surgery with a cut on my stomach and bruises etcetera you remember right?"

"Yeah..." John was still clueless.

"I told you it was probably just some street attack- you know, because they happen." She took a breath and saw Sherlock's excited face, "At the time I didn't know him, but now I do. That man who attacked me, was Sebastian Moran." Sherlock looked like Christmas, his birthday and Easter had all come at once.

"And where were you attacked? How far from the surgery?" The detective queried.

"Only a street away." Lucy replied.

"Oh that's brilliant, that really is brilliant." Sherlock jumped up with glee.

"Are you going to explain why it's so brilliant?" John muttered.

"Haven't you ever wondered why Lucy just so happens to be involved with my most recent case and has just moved in with us? Weird isn't it?" Sherlock grinned as he explained, "Everything has been planned, and this whole murder has been planned. It started six months ago. Moriarty had to get that video while her parents were still alive, so once he got that he could use it to hurt Lucy. Then, her parents are mysteriously murdered. Maybe Moriarty is angry at how Lucy supposedly 'got in the way' of her parents doing 'great things' and in effect, making them steal that money from him. Either way, he must have known she would take that video badly which is why he got it. After her parents are murdered she lives on the streets for months, on her own. She has money, obviously, but isn't living with anyone else which brings Seb in. On the day of the first murder, a cut to the wrist and neck, Lucy is suddenly attacked by a stranger. The stranger is later revealed to be Sebastian. Now what does that tell us? It tells us that the murderer always planned to have her living with us. Seb attacked Lucy only a street away from John's workplace- a doctor's surgery. So obviously she would go there or she would risk getting infection, because he had shocked her and hurt her. Coincidentally John, you were at work at that time- so the killer must have known you would be at work. So obviously, being the only doctor at the surgery at that time Lucy would have to see you. Now, we all know how caring you are, so you wouldn't let her live on the streets would you? No, your first thought was social services, but upon seeing how anxious Lucy was and how shaken up she was, you though it would be better to take her back home for a while. Then obviously, you wanted to see how long she could stay as it all depended on me and I wasn't bothered, so she could live with us. Mycroft told me yesterday that social services would cause us no bother- which means that she can live with us in peace. Obviously if she's living with me she would come to crime scenes, and what happens to be my latest case? The one that was set up all those months ago to taunt her." Sherlock stopped and took a breath, looking at the shocked faces of his flatmates. He added: "There's a lot of chance work in this. But it's all played out exactly as the killer wanted."

"That was amazing," Lucy said in wonder.

"Incredible," John complimented.

"It's just little pieces of the puzzle all fitting together," Sherlock smiled. Suddenly, his phone buzzed with a text, "It's from Lestrade."

"Has he found anything?" John asked. Sherlock started reading the text aloud:

"Sherlock, we found another body in warehouse two. You need to come. And we found the 'treasure.' It was next to the body, a box full of blades. Please come." As Sherlock finished reading, he grabbed his Belstaff coat and a scarf. Knowing that Lucy shouldn't go to anymore crime scenes related to this case he said, "You two stay here, I'll tell you about it later."

"Wait, what?" Lucy frowned, "But we always go." Sherlock hesitated, unsure what to say, but he thought he may as well be honest.

"It's probably best if you don't go to any crime scenes related to this case anymore Lucy. Once we've solved this one, then you can go to as many crime scenes as you like- but it's for your own... safety."

"What a load of shit," She snapped, "I'm as involved in this case as you are Sherlock, and you're not letting me go?"

"It's to avoid things like last night." John said, "So you don't get as hurt."

"And what? John's going to stay here and babysit me?" Lucy was now angry and her voice was rising again.

"In short yes, he's here to look after you, I'll tell you about the stuff I find later and take pictures," Sherlock said. If he wasn't allowed to go to a crime scene, he would react in the same way, so he was trying to compromise.

"This is all bullshit," Lucy said, "Do what you fucking like Sherlock, it's not as if you really care anyway." She refused to look him in the eye as she stormed out of the room to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. A few minutes later she heard the front door shut, signalling that the consulting detective had left the building. Not a moment later she heard a gentle knock on her door as John entered her room.

"What do you want?" She grumbled as he sat down on her bed.

"What you said to Sherlock wasn't very nice," John said gently. Lucy rolled over and sat up.

"It's not like he understands anyway."

"He told me that if he wasn't allowed on a crime scene, he would react similarly," John told her.

"And?" Lucy muttered.

"He does care about you," John said softly, "He cares enough to not let you get hurt by this anymore."

"No he doesn't."

"Lucy, Sherlock isn't an... emotional sort of person. He doesn't care about people easily. The only people he probably cares about is me, Mrs Hudson, Mycroft- although he'll never admit it, maybe Molly and maybe Lestrade. And now he cares about you. I don't think any of us have shown as much emotion from him as we have went you were in danger. He was so worried when you got kidnapped, I almost thought he was going to cry. I've never seen him care so much. And what you said probably hurt him. He was trying to be nice, saying that he would take pictures and stuff for you to see."

"Did he really get upset?" Lucy frowned.

"Yeah, and so did I."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that to Sherlock but I'm still angry."

"I know, but it's only for this case. But it's Sherlock who you should apologise to."

"I don't need babysitting you know." Lucy said pointedly.

"And I'm not leaving you on your own."

"Fine, but... can I be on my own in my room for a bit please?"

"Of course, I'll be upstairs if you need me." John gave her a smile- which she returned before heading up the stairs to his bedroom.

Great, Lucy thought to herself. Now she felt bad. But all that aside, she was actually still pissed off. She didn't need to be babysat 24/7. All she wanted was to go outside, and take a walk on her own. John wouldn't let her though. Jumping up, she put her shoes on and started pacing. Well technically she could sneak out. John was upstairs so she could probably get to the front door and outside with ease, just as long as she made as little noise as possible.

With a smile on her face, she decided to just sneak out. She hadn't been properly alone in ages, and was rather missing it. She grabbed the keys to the flat and her wallet before tip toeing across her room. Pressing her ear to the door, she listened for signs of movement, John had already gone upstairs so she opened the door and stepped out. Moving across the landing, she barely missed the floorboard that creaks as she got onto the first step. After a few steps, she stood still and listened, it was all quiet so she carried down. Holding the banister for support, Lucy dodged the creaky step and made the rest of the way down quickly. She paused, still silence. God, John was going to kill her, but right now she really couldn't care less. The young teenager opened the front door, wincing as it creaked. Stepping out into the fresh, London air, she quietly shut the door behind her. Wondering if John's room was near a window, she immediately started off walking at a quick pace to the park.

It was a typical busy day in London, but it was perfect to Lucy. Now she had some of the freedom she wanted, and she loved it. Of course, deep down, she understood why John was being so... caring and stuff. He didn't want her to get hurt. But that didn't mean she couldn't find it irritating. She didn't know how long she had been walking for, and quite frankly she didn't care either. The teenager was just enjoying being outside, on her own, in the fresh air. Lucy had no real destination in mind; she had walked through the park ages ago and was no meandering down the busy streets of London. Even though she didn't know where she was, she wouldn't say she was lost. After all, the money she had in her wallet was more than enough to get her back to Baker Street. No, she didn't care. She would just enjoy the time she had.

On the corner of the pavement she had been walking down, a Starbucks shop looked invitingly at her. Getting out some money she walked in and ordered a café latte to go. It seemed like ages since she had Starbucks coffee, and each sip of the milky delight was perfect. She almost laughed to herself; it really was the little things that made her happy. Just a few hours out to not have to worry about anything, to not have to think about the cuts on her body and the stories behind them. It was what she had needed. Lucy slowed her pace down as she got her phone out of her pocket, almost choking on her coffee when she saw how many missed calls she had.

17 missed calls. 5 voice messages. All of which were from John.

Yeah, she was in deep shit. Putting the phone to her ear, she listened to the first message:

"Lucy, where are you? You idiot, you haven't even left a note. You better call me back as soon as you get this." He sounded rather pissed off. Then she listened to the second message:

"Lucy, I swear to God if you don't call back soon I'm going to get the whole of the police force, and the secret service to come and find you." She bit back a laugh and listened to the third:

"Oh God Lucy, look, I'm sorry. Please come back, or call me, or something. I'm worried." He was no longer sounding angry thank god. She pressed play for the fourth message:

"I'm sorry if I've done something. Maybe I was too harsh? I didn't mean to, I don't know. But please just... please. I need to know you're safe. I'm so worried... I've called Sherlock and told him that I don't know where you are and he's worried too. He's coming home shortly. Lucy, please tell me you're okay." The young girl sighed, she felt really bad for not telling John, but nonetheless she listened to the final message and was surprised to hear Sherlock's voice instead of John's:

"Lucy, please call us when you get this. I'm worried. I know what I said wasn't fair, but it's only because I... care. You're probably really angry with us both. I'm... sorry. Just please call one of us." She put her phone away and continued walking with a sigh. She'd had her fun, and although she was angry with them, she felt awful for making them worry so much. Lucy stopped walking and looked at her phone again, debating whether or not to call them when a sleek black car pulled up on the curb beside her.

"Oh you've got to be kidding me," she said incredulously to herself. Of course Mycroft would have some surveillance on her, she remembered seeing a black car just before she went into the park- but after that she had lost it. Lucy stared at the car, not sure whether or no she should get in. She could always make a run for it, but that wouldn't do much good. Sighing as the door opened for her, she got into the car, knowing it would be better if she did as she was supposed to.

"Good afternoon Lucy," Lucy shut the car door and turned in surprise to see Mycroft sitting in the back with her.

"Good afternoon Mycroft." She greeted.

"I'm so glad you did decide to get into the car, makes things a whole lot easier."

"How long have you been following me?"

"Well, my cars followed you to the park, I'm not sure what exit you took, but we lost you after that, not that we were concerned at that time, just curious as to where you were heading," he didn't look pleased but he continued anyway, "A couple of hours later I get a call from my brother saying you are missing and he's worried, so I get my people to check the security in the general area, and a while later we find you just before you went into Starbucks. I was in the area and came to pick you up."

"How nice of you," Lucy said, unsure whether or not it came out sarcastically. Mycroft just raised his eyebrows and got his mobile phone out. He tapped for a moment before putting the phone to his ear:

"Yes, we found her. I have her in the car now." There was a pause, "Yes, she's fine. We're on our way now." He hung up.

"That was a short conversation," Lucy commented.

"I thought it would be best to inform my brother of your safety." Mycroft muttered, "Now I have to ask, why were you wandering the streets without John or Sherlock's knowledge?"

"They wouldn't have let me out on my own anyway," She told him, "I just needed some time to myself, on my own properly." She sighed but decided to continue: "It's all been a bit much. And then I'm told I shouldn't go to crime scenes related to this case and that's a bit of a blow, especially when I'm just as involved as Sherlock. I just needed to clear my head, get out, and have time on my own for a bit."

"Understandable I suppose, although you've caused John to almost break down with worry."

"No I haven't. Don't exaggerate," Lucy raised one of her eyebrows, "I don't need him babysitting me Mycroft. I lived on the streets for six months, and not much bad happened to me. Yeah, I was kidnapped, but I need time on my own, I needed to get out." She took a breath, "Maybe I didn't go the right way about it, but you have no idea how much it helped."

"Very well Lucy," Mycroft said, looking at her. She let out a breath as the car rolled up to park outside 221B Baker Street.

"How angry are they with me?" Lucy asked, a little nervously to the elder Holmes' brother.

"They're not angry Lucy. Just worried. There's probably a hint of upset that could be perceived as anger, but they won't show it." Mycroft smiled, "I'm going in with you. Shall we?"

"Okay then," Lucy said as they both got out of the car.

Lucy unlocked the door to the flat and climbed the stairs with Mycroft not far behind. She was nervous now at what they'd say but she tried to brush her fear aside as she entered the living room.

Sherlock and John both jumped up with relief as the teenager walked in. The worry and concern on their face showed through, although Sherlock managed to hide it almost straight away.

"Thank God you're alright," John said, relief obvious in his voice as he stepped forward to give Lucy a big hug.

"I'm sorry for worrying you," Lucy said as he let her go, "I really didn't mean to. I just... needed time on my own to clear my head and I knew you probably wouldn't let me out on my own."

"I'm just glad you're okay." John smiled, "Hello Mycroft." Mycroft nodded in acknowledgement.

"I'm sorry if what I said upset you Lucy," Sherlock said quietly.

"Its fine Sherlock, yeah I'm angry about it, but it's not your fault." Lucy managed a smile at him. But she stepped forward and gave him a hug too. He stiffened at first, but relaxed into the hug and returned it warmly.

"Well isn't this lovely," Mycroft spoke up, still standing in the doorway.

"Oh, I have some stuff to tell you about what they found in warehouse two. There's been another murder," Sherlock suddenly said happily once he and Lucy broke apart.

"Another murder?" Lucy looked surprised.

"And this one's different," Sherlock looked excited.

"How?"

"This one was a self harmer."


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Sherlock had found it to be an interesting morning so far; after all, there had been another murder. Oh brilliant! Another murder! And it's even more intriguing than the last. This was his kind of day. On arrival at warehouse two, Lestrade had taken him to the place where a female body had been dumped. Scars littered the displayed skin on her arms, cuts, old and new, mostly shallow were drawn all over her flesh in shades of red and pink. A deep cut to the dead woman's neck and wrists indicated the killing style Sherlock had come to know over the past few days. Luckily for him, the police already knew it was murder, so there would be no 'serial suicide' bullshit argument this time. But either way, the consulting detective wasn't too sure where this was leading to.

Yes of course the killer wanted to torture Lucy, make her suffer and relish in the pain it caused; but this couldn't go on forever. What was the final motive? What was this leading up to? These were the important questions. Whatever new bodies that came along wouldn't really matter anymore, they didn't hold much evidence that would lead them to the killer. Sherlock wondered how this case would end. And thinking about it made him realise that Lucy could hypothetically be in even more serious danger. If it was Lucy that the murderer wanted to torture, then surely it would end with him actually coming to hurt her? Dammit! Sherlock mused as he took a look around the crime scene. He already had an idea who the killer was, although he didn't have sufficient evidence yet. But there was no reason for Sherlock to linger around the warehouses as not much more would be going on there- it was merely an abandoned, deserted place that no-one went to which made it a convenience for the previous night.

From inside his coat pocket, he felt his mobile vibrate, he frowned when he saw John's name on the screen and immediately answered:

"What is it John?"

"Sherlock, oh shit," John's voice wavered.

"What's happened?" Sherlock frowned, "Is it Lucy?"

"Sherlock I swear, I didn't mean for it to happen, I don't even know how it happened." John babbled.

"John, tell me," Sherlock sighed, trying not to get frustrated.

"Lucy's ran off. Well I don't know what you'd call it. She's gone and she didn't tell me why, I didn't even know she had went." He sounded panicked.

"Look John calm down, try calling her. I'm on my way."

"Thanks." Sherlock hung up promptly afterwards and was just about to start towards the main road to hail a cab.

"Sherlock wait!" Gregory Lestrade called, striding towards the detective before he had the chance to leave the warehouse grounds. Sherlock stopped and swung around, meeting the DI halfway. "You almost forgot this." Greg said as he handed him a small box.

"I don't need this," Sherlock muttered.

"You haven't even had a look at it yet," Lestrade frowned. The consulting detective took a breath before removing the lid, already knowing what lay inside.

The silver glint of the metal reflected the shining sun. Sleek, smooth and sharp they lay in the box, seemingly harmless but deadly when in human touch. There were roughly thirty blades of different types all packed into the little black box; razor blades, sharpener blades... Sherlock frowned; all of them were perfectly clean and new except two.

"Two of them have been used," he observed aloud.

"What?" Greg took a closer look.

"Look closer, all of them are varying shades of silver, kept in immaculate condition right?" With a gloved hand, Sherlock carefully withdrew the two razor blades with extreme caution, being careful not to prick himself, "But these two have very faint traces of a rusty brown colour. It's not rust though. That is the distinct colour of dried blood. Most likely four months old judging by the shade." Sherlock shifted the cool metal in his palm, "Both of them have been disinfected recently, as there are odd tiny dots of this dried blood, but clearly the owner of these blades were in a rush to clean them- perhaps the craving to cut was too bad- and therefore never cleaned them properly hence the blood." There was a silence, "But these blades are owned by two different people. One I'm guessing is the woman's inside warehouse two, but the other..." Sherlock's eyes widened, "There will be another murder."

"How do you know they are two different people?" Lestrade queried.

"The blood pattern!" Sherlock said exasperated, "The woman in there didn't cut too deeply, not once, so the blood pattern on the blade will be close to the edge. But on the other blade, the traces of dried blood vary, indicating that they have cut a lot deeper. Conclusion: these two blades belong to two different people."

"And how do you know there will be another murder?" Greg crossed his arms.

"Why else would their blade be left in there?" Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Get a blood analysis on them, fingerprint too!" He added as he handed back the box.

"Uh right," The DI nodded as he took back the blades, "Oh Sherlock, wait, how's Lucy?" Sherlock Holmes hesitated, suddenly remembering that he needed to get back to John to find Lucy.

"Not good," he replied honestly, "I don't really know what to do. Just before you came I received a call from John informing me she'd gone out the house without his knowledge, he's worried as he has no idea where she could have gone." He bit his lip, "Anything could happen, especially considering her vulnerability to this case. I never know what to do with her."

"Maybe she needed some breathing space," Lestrade suggested.

"Look, I don't know, I'm not very good with this stuff." Sherlock sounded annoyed with himself.

"You don't have to be Sherlock, you care, and that's more than enough. You may not know what to say to her, but sometimes just doing a kind gesture is better." Greg smiled as he could see the cogs whirring in the detective's mind as he processed this.

"Uh, thanks," Sherlock said, surprising the DI, "But I really need to get going."

"Its fine Sherlock just let us know if you find anything else."

Back to when Sherlock was relieved when he knew Lucy was safe, he had ended up showing her the body much to her delight. He knew he had to at least try his best to keep her involved, as he had a feeling that she would get involved regardless. There weren't really any theories to discuss, there wasn't any evidence to lead them either way as the only thing they knew was that it was a mockery of the young teenager. Mycroft had stayed for a bit, requesting his brother's time for just a minute.

"Maybe it wasn't such a good idea," he admitted as he twiddled his umbrella.

"Your heart was in the right place," Sherlock muttered, Mycroft raised an eyebrow, at this the younger brother said: "Oh don't pretend you don't like her Mycroft."

"I care about her is all." The elder Holmes' gave a smile, "I had a sort of duty to look after her, especially if she lives with you."

"Hilarious."

"I would suggest carrying on with not letting her to crime scenes on this particular case, but it's probably best to ensure you know where she is at all times."

"Fine."

"I best be off brother, I'm sure we will see each other soon." Mycroft bid goodbye to John and Lucy before he departed, umbrella in hand.

A silence descended on the flat as Sherlock went off to do an experiment involving ears in the breadbin. John and Lucy sat on the sofa, watching crap TV that neither was really interested in. John awkwardly got up to make everyone a cup of tea, leaving Lucy playing on her phone. It was almost worrying how calm John was being about everything, the young teenager was expecting him to be angry, shouting, but no, his calmness seemed to be far more worrying than anger. Her phone's LED light flashed, silently announcing the arrival of a text message.

Lucy frowned as she looked at it; the message was from an unknown, blocked number and had no signature or gave any indication on who may have sent it. Her blood seemed to run cold and her face visibly paled as she read the text:

Honey, I see how much you enjoyed your little wander today. How about slipping out again at twelve o'clock and meeting me in Regent's Park in that little secluded spot that I saw you walk through?

Looking forward to seeing you sexy. X

P.S don't think about telling your little friends either.

Lucy took a deep breath and put her phone back into her pocket just in time before John placed the cup of tea in front of her. However he hesitated, and looked at her with a frown.

"Are you okay? You seem awfully pale." The doctor frowned as he took her chin in his hand, feeling her forehead.

"I'm fine." Her voice was shaky.

"Lucy..." John said with a concerned frown.

"Honestly John, I'm fine, I think it's just the previous few events catching up on me." She lied.

"Okay, tell me if you need anything," He smiled before sitting down.

Sherlock was watching her with piercing but gentle eyes, unsure whether or not she was telling the whole truth. The teenager caught his eye and gave a small smile as he returned to his experiment.

So tomorrow at twelve... who knew what awaited her.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Morning came around the following day, and Lucy made sure to be up and ready by nine. On a day like today, she would have loved to have an even longer lie in, but she had to be ready for twelve. After all- she had to make sure there was plenty of time to sneak out to visit this person in the park. However, the young teenager was starting to have second thoughts, but she brushed them aside, thinking that it would probably be best to find out what the hell this person wanted.

Luckily for her last night, Sherlock and John didn't say anything else about her little walk around the city. They didn't need to. Sherlock partly understood why she would want to be on her own, and John had accepted that they were being a bit over the top. The poor girl had lived on the streets for god's sake! A little walk on her own wouldn't make a difference.

Lucy had a feeling she knew who would be waiting for her in Regent's Park. As she got herself ready and dressed for the day in her usual long sleeved clothing, she sighed heavily. All she wanted was to find out who was killing all these people, and to be able to move on.

At half past nine, Lucy heard her phone vibrate on the bedside table. Going over to have a look, she grimaced at the unknown number. There were two texts. The first one read:

Can't wait to see you later. We will have so much fun, but I'll give you a little puzzle first x

Lucy huffed out an emotionless laugh, now she knew for certain who this was. Moriarty. That bastard. But nonetheless, she flicked to look at the next text, frowning when a picture came up.

It was a picture of an abandoned alleyway. But it was surprisingly clean. Lucy frowned. She recognised the place. It was only a street away from where she used to live; she recognised the familiar graffiti of a bird on the right wall.

Dashing out of her bedroom, Lucy ran right into Sherlock- who let out a breath as she collided into him. Already dressed in a white shirt and suit, Sherlock looked like he had been up for hours- which was probably the truth.

"Sorry," she mumbled hastily.

"Didn't expect you up so early," he grumbled, clearly bored and annoyed.

"I have a picture," she told him. He merely raised an eyebrow, "It's from an unknown number." Lucy continued, "I know where it is, it's only a street away from where I used to live." She brought the picture up and held it up to him. Sherlock frowned for a fraction of a second before his whole face lit up.

"Brilliant!" He exclaimed, "That would be where the next body is right now." He suddenly darted off up the stairs to outside John's room and yelled at the top of his lungs: "John! Get up! We're off out, there's another body!" Jumping back downstairs, Sherlock texted Lestrade with a big grin on his face. This body must be the other self harmer.

"Do I get to come or not?" Lucy asked, with a reluctant and wary tone to her voice.

"Yes," Sherlock quickly replied as he got everything that he needed together.

"Really?" Lucy looked surprised.

"Well we need you to show us where this alleyway is." Sherlock said, "Lestrade and his imbecilic officers will be waiting for us at your old house." Tapping his hand impatiently he yelled, "Hurry up John!"

"Yeah alright," the tired doctor mumbled as he came downstairs. He yawned, and glared at his dark haired flatmate for inconsiderately waking him up. With a little jump of glee, Sherlock practically skipped downstairs ahead of everyone else to hail a taxi to Lucy's old home. John and Lucy followed suit, with John not sure whether to laugh or be annoyed at the great consulting detective.

Not too long afterwards did they find themselves strolling quickly towards the police force. Sherlock's long strides were making it hard for his flatmates to keep up- but he was far too excited. Once there, Lestrade had greeted them and he smiled at Lucy, who returned a grateful smile back.

"Okay then," Greg said clapping his hands together, "Lead the way Lucy."

At another brisk walk Lucy led everyone a couple of streets away into a seemingly eerie street. The sun was starting to rise more in the blue, cloudless sky, and the golden glows basked the street in light, giving it a much more cheerful atmosphere than usual. There were two closed down shops in the middle of the street, both of which had their windows bordered up and each looked long abandoned. In the middle of the two shops in question, was an alleyway. Straight into it the young teenager led her friends and the police force. In the shadows, she could see what she presumed to be a body, but something on the wall caught her eye. It was what appeared to be a note, sticky taped to the beak of the graffiti bird. With swift hands she took it without anyone seeing.

Lucy let the officers, John and Sherlock past to examine the body as she quickly had a look at the note. The neat writing read:

Always keep a watch out for those who mean something to you. Oh, and Lucy honey, I suggest you leave as soon as you get this note. I would like to see you as soon as possible or there will be consequences. JM x

Her heart thumped in her chest. Jim Moriarty had left that there. The first sentence didn't make much sense, maybe it was meant for Sherlock or John? But either way, Lucy knew she had to leave now or God knows what this crazy man would do next. All of the police officers and both John and Sherlock were crouched around the body. Sherlock was rattling off another long deduction and was currently the centre of attention. This was useful. It gave her a chance to slip away.

But Lucy hesitated, she knew she shouldn't run off again, but she had to. Not only did she want some more time to herself, she wanted to meet Jim and find out what he wanted. If Sherlock or John were to know anything about this she would never be able to be alone again in case she got hurt. The young girl straightened her posture, she had to do something- she wasn't going to sit in the sidelines getting hurt again and again.

She felt the paper slip from her grasp as she turned on her heel and jogged out of the alleyway. Glancing at her watch she sped up her pace, being quiet so she wouldn't alert anyone. She had approximately five minutes before they noticed she was missing. Sherlock usually wouldn't miss anything, but because he was so absorbed in the body and deductions, he wouldn't be focussing on her. And the police force... well, there wasn't much hope with them. Now fully sprinting back onto the main road she checked her pocket for the money she stuffed in there earlier and hailed a cab with surprisingly quick success.

"Regent's Park please," she said to the driver, panting to regain her breath.

Sherlock had just finished his deduction about the dead man lying on the floor, the scars and deep cuts confirmed the knowledge that this was in fact the other self harmer. But of course Sherlock was always right. Feeling pleased with himself he glanced at John, but his flatmate's gaze was wide-eyed.

"What?" Sherlock frowned.

"Where's Lucy?" John choked out. The consulting detective glanced around, confusion laced his features. He didn't manage a reply, but instead, noted the piece of paper that had fallen onto the floor. He picked it up and read it aloud for both John and DI Lestrade.

"Moriarty," Sherlock growled out once he had finished.

"Always keep a watch out for those who mean something to you." John repeated, "He must have meant for us to read that bit." He clenched his fists, "We didn't look out for her... again." He mentally chastised himself for failing her again.

"We need to find her now." Sherlock snarled, starting to pace, "Obviously she already knew about meeting him..." He hesitated in his tracks, "Oh stupid, idiot." Sherlock Holmes' eyes flashed with annoyance, "Last night John, she seemed out of sorts didn't she?"

"She looked pale," John confirmed.

"Lucy must have found out then and didn't tell us," He resumed his pacing, "What are you all waiting for? She's gone to meet a psychopath! Go find her!" He yelled to the police force.

"She already lives with a psychopath, she's probably used to it," Anderson drawled out sarcastically.

"I will fucking make sure you're the next person to be killed if you don't shut up right now!" Sherlock hissed venomously, his tone dangerous and menacing.

"Right, Sherlock, John, get in the police car with me; everyone else, go find her!" Lestrade ordered, "We don't know where she may have gone, but keep a look out, I'll inform the other officers."

Sherlock decided that in this circumstance, he would get into the police car. He only hoped nothing more would happen.

During the taxi ride, Lucy was unsurprised to feel her phone vibrate in her pocket numerous times. Apparently they had realised she was gone within around five minutes. She bit her lip; she didn't know what awaited her, but she was certain she would get yelled at when they found her. Lucy said thank you to the driver as she paid him before walking at a fast pace into Regent's Park.

It was a lovely day, so obviously there were a lot of people there. But Lucy headed straight for that secluded, private spot that only she knew about. Her step faltered as she went through the trees and bushes, but with a deep breath she pushed on to find none other than Jim Moriarty sitting comfortably on the bench dressed in his usual suit. With her head held high and a neutral expression on her young face, she walked fearlessly towards him.

"Lucy!" He sang, looking up at her with a smirk, "I knew you wouldn't be able to resist coming to see Uncle Jim again."

"What is it you want?" Lucy demanded, cutting straight to the chase. Moriarty pouted, but patted the seat beside him; a gesture that meant Lucy had to sit down. With her posture radiating confidence, she took a seat next to the audacious criminal mastermind.

"Now, I don't want to hurt you Lucy," Jim spoke normally, but a smirk was hidden in his voice.

"Then what is this all about?" The teenager asked, "Why kill everyone? Why make people suffer? Why deliberately remind me of my parent's death? Why mock me with all of this?"

"Honey, you never listen, I never killed anyone," Moriarty shook his head sadly, "You're parents were pathetic, surely you saw that on the video I showed you. They hurt Uncle Jim, so Uncle Jim is making them pay." He smiled.

"You're making them pay by hurting me? They're dead! There's no point to this!" Lucy said frustrated.

"Well," he seemed to be debating something, "I think my plans are quite entertaining actually."

"You're a psychopath."

"Thank you."

"I didn't mean it as a compliment."

"I'll take it as one," Moriarty withdrew something from his belt or pocket, "I found this in your house the other month." Jim Moriarty placed a gun in her hand, it was similar to the one Sherlock had taught her to fire if she got in danger at the warehouses. Attached to it was a note. Lucy's voice caught in her throat and she choked a sob.

The words were written in the neat calligraphy of her dad's hand writing:

_Here's a gun sweetie. Should you still be alive, it may be a good idea to end your pathetic life x_

Lucy shook her head, enraged. "What is this bullshit? My dad would never write something like this!"

"Apparently he did," Jim sang gleefully.

"I don't understand," Lucy sighed, defeated, "How are you doing all of this?"

"I have my ways, all will be revealed very soon." He taunted, "But Lucy, you're parent's never loved you, it's time you listened and learnt that fact." He laughed to himself, "Get it in that thick skull. You won't win this battle. You're weak." He glared at her, "We're not playing games anymore, Lucy Patterson. You and your little friends can solve all the murders in the world, but they will never find the killer. Sherlock must be enjoying this; he's such a sweet little thing isn't he?" Jim sneered and his eyes flashed excitedly, "It all ends in heartbreak though. When you're ready to give up, please, send me a little message." He got up, adjusted his suit and was about to walk off when Lucy spoke up:

"Wait," she hesitated, "What is it you're aiming for here?"

"I think your parents gave you a gun for a reason sweetie, don't be so dull and ordinary."

"If you think I'll kill myself, then you're wrong." Lucy glared at him. The man raised an eyebrow.

"We'll see," He winked before turning around and walking off but sang: "Very soon..."

Lucy was left sitting there, feeling hot and uncomfortable in the heat of the London day. She felt numb, dead inside. It was like she wasn't even alive. For all she knew, Moriarty could have forged the writing, and forged the video; but it was enough to make her question her parent's love for her. Ha. If there was any love that is. You know those days when you just feel like you're not yourself, you feel disengaged, numb? Those were just a few words to describe everything. Her hand itched and her mind craved the soothing cut of the blade as it released all the hurt and anger. But she couldn't go back home. She couldn't face John and Sherlock. She didn't want to be yelled at right now, because if she did, she would start crying and she didn't think she'd be able to stop.

All throughout the conversation, her phone had been endlessly buzzing with missed calls and texts; from her pocket she retrieved it and glanced at the texts. They were mainly just asking where the hell she was and to ring them now. But Lucy barely read them. She had twenty missed calls. She didn't ring anyone back. All she wanted was to be alone for eternity, to just crawl into a dark corner and be left to die like her parents wanted. There was no point to anything. There was no point to life. The teenager made sure the safety catch was on the gun before stashing it in the small bag she had brought along.

Needing to take her mind off of the overwhelming urge to cut, she took off at a fast pace to walk through the park and onto the streets on London. All the time her phone kept buzzing, but all the time she would ignore it. It was unfathomable, her mood; she couldn't understand what she was feeling. Depressed, obviously. But she felt worse than that... she felt suicidal. Now the weight of the gun was heavy in her bag, a clear sign. Maybe Moriarty was right, maybe she would just end it the way he had predicted. This was his game wasn't it? He liked to watch people dance, before slowly breaking; he relished watching innocent people lose themselves before finally taking away their precious lives. It is a game; and one he knew he would always win.

She didn't stop walking. The troubled girl took no notice of the signs or the direction in which she was going; all she knew was that she didn't want to stop. She wanted to walk until her feel bled and cried for mercy, until she could feel no more pain. Nothing. Emotionless. For two whole hours she walked, unnoticed by the bustling city. She was just another person, one in billions. She was miniscule... nothing. She was barely even alive.

Of course she wasn't surprised when a black car rolled up near her. But this time she didn't stop. Choosing to ignore the car, she carried on. With the sun beating down on her clothed skin, she took a deep breath; she had no intention of stopping. Of course the sleek Mercedes followed her. Lucy was getting pissed off- couldn't they see she wanted to be left alone? Turning down a few side streets, aimless wandering at a quick pace, the teenager came to a few abandoned roads that ran along the length of another park. No sign of people. Relaxing.

Of course that black car had to persist and pursue her onto this particular street. Of course police sirens had to sound before a car raced around the corner towards her. Of course Mycroft had to get out and walk straight towards her. Of course Sherlock, John and Lestrade, all with worried faces had to run towards Lucy. Of course that would happen; because the world is a cruel bastard.

But Lucy just kept on trying to walk, ignoring them. Their shouts and voices drowned out into white noise. It was all unimportant. It was all pointless. Her pace had quickened, and she knew they were all around her, telling her to stop, to calm down, asking what was going on. But she just wanted to be left alone.

Was it really too much to ask?

A pair of arms wrapped around her fragile stomach as they all caught up to her, the white noise voices blocking out the once peaceful sounds of the city. Lucy jerked violently away, ripping away from the arms and looking at them with shining wide-eyes. Tears threatened to fall, but she fought back. They grabbed at her arms as she tried to walk away. She was wordless. She said nothing.

She couldn't speak.

She wasn't herself.

Lucy Patterson... who is that?

She was nobody.

"Get off of me," she said weakly, as she continued to thrash out of their grasps. "Just stop this, stop everything." Lucy tried to run, but her efforts were futile. Sherlock had grabbed her again, just as the tears started.

The tears didn't fall, they crashed around her.

Everything was catching up; everything was going wrong in her life.

It was blocking her senses.

Overpowering her mind.

A grey foggy mist swirled round and round.

The tears didn't fall, they crashed around her.

"Lucy?" She heard Sherlock and John say.

But it meant nothing anymore.

Who was Lucy?

No-one.

"Lucy what's wrong?" Sherlock's voice was concerned, "Stay with us."

It meant nothing anymore.

The mist clouded her vision.

Everything went silent.

Everything seemed to go away.

The hurt, the pain, seemed to drain.

Like a broken memory of the past.

The tears didn't fall, they crashed around her.

Her body hit the floor.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Sherlock sat on his chair at 221B Baker Street; Lestrade was busy making everyone a drink in the hazardous kitchen and was doing his best to make sure the drinks weren't contaminated with any odd experiment liquids or the like. Mycroft had taken John's usual seat and was quietly taking in Sherlock's blank expression. John, on the other hand, was checking Lucy over in her bedroom; there were no visible injury's anywhere but it appeared that she would be fine- she just needed to rest.

As soon as the young teenager fainted, Sherlock had caught her just before her head hit the floor, preventing her from having a concussion. They had immediately taken her back home and carried her to her bedroom, leaving the small bag she had taken along on the side. None of them knew what had happened, but all of them knew that Moriarty was probably involved.

"Here you are," Greg said as he handed Mycroft and Sherlock their cups of well earned tea.

"Thank you," Mycroft said in his posh voice. Sherlock just nodded his head in thanks. As John slowly walked out towards the three, the DI handed him a steaming mug of tea and gave him a sympathetic smile.

"How is she?" Greg asked.

"She'll be fine." John sighed, "There are no injuries on her, other than the ones that are obviously self inflicted..." He trailed off and rubbed his eyes, "Oh God, what on earth happened to her?"

"I don't know," Sherlock admitted bitterly, "Jim Moriarty happened though, we know that much." Sherlock Holmes paused long enough to create a slightly awkward silence as he took a sip of the scalding, hot liquid, "I've been thinking..."

"Always a dangerous thing," Mycroft commented, earning himself a death glare from his younger brother.

"I've been thinking," Sherlock started again, "That maybe it isn't best for Lucy to be staying here with us."

"What?" John and Lestrade exclaimed.

"She's getting in too much danger," the consulting detective murmured.

"You said yourself Sherlock, that even if she hadn't met us, she would still be involved with all of this. Making her move away isn't going to help anything." John Watson told him.

"Sherlock, you've grown attached to her," Mycroft said, "You'll just have to figure out who is killing these people and to make it stop before it goes too far."

"When will she wake up?" Sherlock changed the subject.

"When she's ready," John replied. The dark haired man stood up and began to walk off with his tea, "Where are you going?"

"To sit with Lucy," he replied simply without a backwards glance.

Sherlock Holmes was a first class detective; he frequently made sure everyone knew that fact. But Sherlock wasn't very good in matters of a delicate nature, such as what was going on with Lucy at the present time. With a careful step, Sherlock quietly sat on the bed beside the sleeping girl. She looked so peaceful, serene; you'd never be able to tell that she had all of these problems by looking at her. But what was he, or anyone, to do? He had an idea who the killer could be, whether or not it was the right solution, he wasn't sure yet. He needed more data, more facts, although they would be near impossible to obtain. The only way he could ever really be able to find out, would be if they were to turn up and show themselves. But for now, he would keep his deductions to himself.

Lucy's mind was just a swirling black fog. It was empty, nothing. No pain could be felt in her state of unconsciousness. But that fog had started to clear, all the emotional pain had come flooding back, overwhelming her senses and destroying her mind. She wished that she could have stayed in that state of unconsciousness forever; surely, to feel nothing at all is better than feeling all that pain? And the only way she would be able to feel no pain at all would be to end it all. She wouldn't even be alive. But right now, that thought sounded perfect to her. The teenager had a gun in her bag; just one shot is all it would take. That is, if the others had left her stuff alone, which they probably had. It would mean that Moriarty had won this stupid game, but she wouldn't care if she was gone. And yet, something was holding her back. What it was... she had her ideas. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Yes, she had grown to really like them. Hell, she loved them like they were her own family. But she kept having to remind herself; they'd only been living together for several days, it would be a much cleaner break than if she left it too long. Not that they would even care. Lucy was just someone who got in the way. Sherlock would just get on with solving his little crimes, not even noticing her sudden disappearance. And John... well, Lucy wasn't really sure. He'd move on though, very quickly. After all, who could miss such a hindrance as her?

And that was when she decided. She'd text Moriarty when she was ready; let him know he had won.

Lucy felt defeated.

But she couldn't alert the other's to her plans.

Slowly, her eyes started to open, squinting against the bright light that she was unaccustomed to. A body shifted beside her, and she turned her head to look into the concerned eyes of Sherlock Holmes.

"How are you feeling?" He asked in a calm voice.

"Fine," she muttered. With Sherlock's help she sat up, ignoring the dizzy feeling. Lucy turned her head and took in the sight of Lestrade, Mycroft and John standing just inside the room, all of them with neutral, but slightly worried expressions. Before anyone had a chance to speak, Lucy quickly made a point of saying:

"I'm fine okay." She could see in John and Sherlock's eyes that they didn't believe her, but that no longer mattered.

Nothing mattered anymore.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

That day, Lucy hadn't spoken much. She refused to talk to anyone about what had happened when she ran off from them at the crime scene, and she could see that it was annoying Sherlock. He wanted the information, he wanted to know what was going on so that he could solve this, but if she were to tell him then she couldn't escape. If he had the knowledge that she was in possession of a gun, she would have zero privacy, and would probably have to be babysat twenty four seven. And that wasn't going to happen. By this point Lucy was long past caring about the murders and the case- in the end it was all just a sick little game to push her over the edge... literally. And she'd had enough of playing the game. Now, she knew for definite that she would never get closure over her parent's death; in the back of her mind she would always think that they truly hated her, after all, how else would she have seen the video and the note? Whatever it was that Jim Moriarty was doing, he was doing it well.

Night came around as the golden sun set in the sky, basking her bedroom in many shades of orange. What a pretty sight to witness, she thought almost bitterly to herself. The colours reflected off of the shiny metal that glinted ever so slightly in the smooth palm of the young teenager's hand. It was bad that night. The cuts got deeper and deeper, sinking into her flesh over and over again. It was like she was in a trance. But she relished the feeling. It made the numbness go away. Both arms were soon covered in rows of cuts, all varying in depth. But not too deep, never too deep, no permanent damage, but probably enough to leave scars. The pure white tissues quickly became marred as the blood splattered onto the delicate colour. The pain seemed to fade; she didn't feel the physical pain anymore. Curing emotional pain with physical pain- she laughed once to herself. How screwed up was she? Why would Sherlock and John even want her around? That question baffled her every moment she spent with them; but at the same time, she had never felt more loved. Another day, another wound, what else did she have left to lose? A million thoughts jumbled as one, cut upon cut, closer to that gun.

She stopped, letting the tears and blood stop flowing as- with shaking hands- she carefully placed the blade back into its hiding place. It was late. Wandering into her ensuite bathroom with legs like jelly, she looked into the full length mirror. What a mess. Lucy winced, and another tear squeezed its way out to roll down her cheek before falling to the tile floor. She must have been in a trance. On her neck, were four cuts. None were central; all four were to the right side of her neck and were a tad visible. Luckily, they weren't too much more than scratches, a trickle of blood maybe, but nothing major. God, what had she become? She hated herself even more for this. Lucy knew that she couldn't let Sherlock or John see her like this, which meant that tomorrow had to be the day.

After all, why prolong the inevitable?

At four in the morning, her quiet alarm woke her up from her light slumber. Lucy barely got any sleep, but in the end, it really didn't matter. Turning the alarm off on her phone, she searched through her recent text messages until she came across the unknown number. Jim Moriarty's number. The most dangerous criminal mastermind the world has even seen. But he was a master of his profession, no doubt about that. With a deep breath she started to type out a new text message:

You've got what you wanted. Congratulations, you're the winner. Want to see you prize? St Bart's Hospital rooftop at seven o'clock. –Lucy

The teenager pressed send before placing her phone back on the side. Three hours. It's a strange thing when you put it into perspective. Everything felt surreal, but at the moment she was surprisingly calm. Giving herself half an hour to herself, she closed her eyes and relaxed.

At half four, she jumped into the shower. Lucy knew that it was pointless, getting clean when she planned to die anyway, but for her own sake she decided to just do a normal routine. Ignoring the searing burn of her cuts, she scrubbed her body, washed her hair and towelled dried herself before blow-drying her hair. It was so quiet in the flat. So very quiet. But it was nice. Hurriedly she got changed into black jeans, her favourite band t-shirt (with a black long-sleeved top underneath) a jacket, and her converse. Her favourite clothes. How sentimental.

It was now five o'clock.

Two more hours.

In a shoulder bag she checked the gun Moriarty had given her yesterday, it was loaded, so she left it in her bag. She also packed her wallet. It was unlikely she would require anything else. But she hesitated, feeling as though she had forgotten something. Glancing behind her, she saw her notebook lying open on her desk. With a slow step, she walked over to it- last time she had left it there she had closed it, so why was it open? As she neared it, she saw writing on the next page; it read:

I know you don't see it, but I do like you Lucy. It's hard for me to say and I probably won't say it to your face or even mention that I wrote this, but I'm kind of glad you came to live with us. It's nice having someone of decent intelligence around, although John is an exception. Lestrade told me that doing a 'kind gesture' is enough so I guess this is the best I could think of for now. Sorry, in the process I had a look through your notebook and you write some mildly decent songs.

-Sherlock

Lucy brushed a tear away from her eye and chuckled to herself. It meant a lot, and she could tell that she had put effort into writing something so she was grateful. In his own way he had said something that really touched her, but it wasn't enough to stop her. On the next clean page though, she started writing:

To Sherlock and John,

First of all, I am so so sorry for everything. I'm sorry for the trouble and worry I've caused and I'm sorry that I've messed you around. Honestly, I don't deserve to know people as nice and as amazing as you two and I'm so lucky to have met you. But also... thank you. I know I didn't show it, but for the first time in ages I felt truly wanted and liked. You gave me a roof over my head and a new life even though both of you didn't know me. I wish it could have ended better. Please, don't think that this is your fault, this is mine and mine alone. I can't deal with it all, I can't deal with the knowledge that my parent's hate me; and even if it's not true, I will still never be able to get closure. I've made some lovely memories in our short time together, but I just can't cope anymore. Thank you for everything. You have no idea how much I love both of you.

All the best for the future.

Love,

Lucy.

She put the pen down and wiped the tears away with a shaky hand. Knowing that this was probably the biggest mistake of her life, she hated herself even more. But what other way was there? From the side, she grabbed her phone and put it in her pocket, but she stopped and turned around to face the notebook again. Turning back a page to Sherlock's note, she ripped it out and read it again with a small smile. Carefully, she folded it up and gently placed it into her other pocket. She put the notebook back on her note again, before taking a deep breath as she walked to her door.

For once, the house was silent. Opening her door a fraction, she could see that no-one was in the living room. Sneaking out with immense precision, she left her door partially open as she tiptoed to the top of the stairs. Lucy paused, and took a good look around the flat, taking in all the sights. The shot smiley face, the kitchen full of experiments, Sherlock's violin, and John's unused walking stick laying proudly on the side... it all made her smile.

"Goodbye Sherlock... goodbye John... goodbye Mrs Hudson." Lucy murmured in an almost silent voice. With a smile on her face, she ventured downstairs.

The cool air of London hit her face as she stepped outside. With a heavy feeling in her chest, she shut the door behind her. Before she started to walk off she glanced back at the door to 221B Baker Street... her home. Lucy bit her lip and allowed one more tear to escape. But then she squared her shoulders, nodded her goodbye and started to walk off down the road.

It was quarter past six.

Forty five minutes.

Lucy had hailed a cab after a refreshing few minute walk, and ordered the driver to take her to St Bart's Hospital. It wasn't a long drive, so she arrived there early, but she knew her way around it to avoid seeing people. After paying the taxi driver, she stepped outside and breathed a deep lungful of London air. It was easy finding her way around the multi story building, and even easier to avoid being spotted. Not many people were around the way she was going, so she reached the room that contained the stairs to the top of the rooftop quite quickly.

The heaviness in her chest seemed to grow with each step she took, the ache in her heart got stronger. She was having second thoughts, but she couldn't turn back now. Perhaps, if she was lucky, she would find out who the killer is if Jim was in a good mood. Which he would be, considering he won.

The morning sun hit her as she finally reached the top of the building. It was a beautiful day, and Lucy was glad it was. She turned her head and blinked in surprise as she saw Jim Moriarty standing, facing the building on the other side near the edge of the rooftop. With tentative steps, she walked towards him, her head held high even in defeat.

"Good morning Jim." She said, stopping a few metres away from the consulting criminal.

"Ah Lucy! Lovely to see you as always." He mocked in a cheerful tone as he turned to face her. Lucy inclined her head.

"I expect you've been waiting for this."

"You have no idea." He sang with a grin on his smug face. Lucy flinched as her mobile's ringtone sounded. Jim laughed.

"I bet that's Sherlock. Oh he's such a sweetie isn't he? Aren't you going to answer?"

"No, I wrote a note," Lucy shook her head as she glared at him.

"He must be worried," Moriarty said in mock pity.

"Like you would care."

"Maybe I do."

"In a sick way."

"I have to agree with you there." Moriarty said, "Well, enough chit chat I think it's time don't you? I won. I want my prize."

"Hang on," Lucy narrowed her eyes, "Aren't you going to tell me who the actual murderer is?"

"Murderers." Moriarty corrected gleefully, clearly getting a kick out of this, "Plural darling."

"There's two people?" Lucy's eyes widened in shock.

"No shit Sherlock," Moriarty laughed, "Ha, I like that saying. I should use it more often."

Police sirens sounded below. Oh great, Lucy groaned internally, they wouldn't have a lot of time left if the police were for them. If Sherlock was with them, how on earth would he know?

"Sounds like your little friends may be joining us soon." Jim muttered, but he seemed pleased by this fact, "Should be fun."

"Dammit," She said under her breath. But feeling time running out, she said: "So who are they? You owe me this at least."

"I reckon they'll be excited to see you," he murmured to himself, "I bet the feeling will be mutual."

"Just tell me!" Lucy yelled, getting frustrated with his taunting.

"How about I show you instead?" Jim sang.

"What and they will murder me as well?" She said sarcastically.

"Now, now, play nicely!"

"Fine. Who are they?"

With a triumphant grin on his face, Moriarty pressed something on his phone, clearly sending some kind of text message. Lucy cocked her head to the side slightly in question, but Jim just smiled back, clearly enjoying the after-game. The teenager heard the door to the rooftop open, and she saw Moriarty nod.

"Take a look for yourself," he said pointing behind her.

With a deep breath, Lucy slowly turned around to face the murderers. But she stared with wide eyes as she came face to face with them. She stumbled a step back, she wanted to scream but no sound would come out. How was it even possible? With a terrified, and very much confused voice, she said:

"Mum... dad?"


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

At around quarter past six in the morning, the gentle sound of a door shutting startled Sherlock out of his light slumber. Rarely did he sleep at all, but on occasion he gave his body a chance to recuperate- after all, how was he supposed to track down a criminal mastermind when he wasn't fully functioning as well as he could be? Mind you, it wasn't unusual for doors to be opening and shutting at this time. Maybe Mrs Hudson was awake downstairs, or John or Lucy had awoken and decided to get a drink. Whatever it was, Sherlock didn't really care. He was awake now, so he might as well get dressed.

Having gotten swiftly clothed in his purple shirt and smart-casual jacket and trousers, the consulting detective walked out into the corridor, stretching his long arms as he walked. As soon as he stepped out of his door though, he knew something was amiss. He stopped dead in his tracks, barely breathing as his ears strained for any tell-tale noises. Nothing. Furrowing his brow, Sherlock Holmes looked around him.

He noticed the slightly ajar door in less than two seconds.

The door to Lucy's bedroom had been left open- unusual. She never left the door open by accident, and she wasn't the kind of person to forget to do something like that. A shot of adrenaline coursed into Sherlock's veins as he rapped on the door, opening it more as he did.

"Lucy?" He said her name in utter confusion. Looking around the room, it was obvious that she was no longer there. The bed had been made, the ensuite bathroom had been used and there were a few things missing... With wide eyes he yelled her name again: "Lucy!" No reply. Not caring if he woke John up or not, Sherlock dashed around the flat, looking for signs as to where she could be.

"Lucy!" He shouted again, although he knew it was pointless. Running up to John's room with a growl, Sherlock didn't bother knocking as he burst in- causing a sleepy John to moan in annoyance.

"What do you want?" The doctor mumbled.

"It's Lucy, she's gone."

"What do you mean gone?" John sat up, now concerned.

"I mean, she's not here... The door!" Sherlock yelled, "I heard a door open, what if it was the front door? She's gone out again. We have to find her, now. Especially after what happened yesterday. Quickly get changed, I'm calling Lestrade and Mycroft." Without waiting for John's reply, the consulting detective ran out of the room, dialling Mycroft's number.

"Hello Sherlock, what a surprise," his brother's silky voice answered.

"Not the time Mycroft," Sherlock growled, agitated, "Lucy's disappeared. Where is she?"

"Disappeared?" Now it was Mycroft's turn to be worried.

"Yes, where is she? We need surveillance. She wasn't right yesterday, anything could be happening."

"She hasn't yet been sighted Sherlock, I would have received a phone call if she had."

"Then where is she?" The young Holmes yelled.

"I don't know, but I'll call some people, I'll tell you when we have news." The elder Holmes hung up. By this time, John had entered, now fully dressed. Up and down, up and down, Sherlock started pacing as he called Greg.

"Hey Sherlock," The DI answered.

"Lucy's gone missing."

"Again?" Greg was confused.

"Yes, there was something wrong with her last night, anything could be happening, we need you to come pick us up. Help us search."

"Oh shit mate," Lestrade said sympathetically, "We will be ten minutes, I'll send the other's to go look for her and I'll come get you."

"Hurry." Sherlock said before hanging up.

The great detective all but collapsed onto the chair and ran his hands through his hair, before going into his 'thinking' pose. His jaw was tight, and John could see that he was clearly worried. Knowing Moriarty, this was something to do with him again.

"Did she leave a note?" John asked, "If this is to do with Moriarty, then she may have tried to tell us?"

"That's why she left her room open!" Sherlock said suddenly, jumping up, "She was trying to tell us to go into her room. But what are we looking for?" The two jogged into the young girl's bedroom. Immediately Sherlock noticed that the pen on her desk wasn't where he left it when he wrote the note for her. Dragging John with him, Sherlock looked at the notebook on the desk. The page before had been ripped out carefully, and there was now a long note written to him and John. With wide eyes they read the neat calligraphy, feeling their hearts sink in their chest.

"A suicide note?" John murmured.

"No, no, she wouldn't do that." Sherlock muttered.

"A lot has been happening to her."

"It's Moriarty; he's been messing with her. What's the betting that he didn't talk her into doing something like this yesterday? Her bag that she was carrying, it was rather heavy wasn't it? What if he gave her a gun? It had the weight of one. I wouldn't put it past him to do something like that." Sherlock was now pacing again. "But it doesn't make sense, she's gone undetected so far, so she's probably got a taxi somewhere. So she must know where she's going and either it must be where there isn't any people, or where she knows she can avoid being detected." He glanced back at the notebook, "And she took my note with her."

"You wrote her a note?"

"Don't worry about it." Sherlock waved his hand, "But her writing is rushed, it isn't as neat as it usually would be. I've read through that diary, her writing on that note is scruffier than usual... So she was in a hurry. She had a time she had to be somewhere. So she had planned this. Or at least planned it early this morning otherwise she would have plenty of time and wouldn't have had to rush this." He slammed his fist hard onto the desk, "But where is she?" Sherlock flinched as his phone started ringing.

"Mycroft, got anything?" He immediately cut to the chase.

"St Bart's hospital. There is a few seconds of footage on there with her. It's very recent, a few seconds ago. I suggest you hurry and get there."

"Thank you," Sherlock sounded genuinely grateful, "Lestrade is picking us up."

"I'll come along later if I can, for now I would like to try and get more surveillance."

"Fine." The detective hung up. He turned to John, "Lestrade's here." He muttered as he checked his phone's texts. As they ran down to get into the police car John said:

"You know, she could have told us what was going on. But she didn't." He sighed, "Clearly she knew it would come to this, but at the same time she was too scared to say anything. What if we're too late Sherlock?"

"We won't be."

Both men clambered into the back of Detective Inspector Lestrade's police car and almost simultaneously, Greg started the car to get going.

"St Bart's hospital!" Sherlock yelled at him.

"I'm not a taxi service," Greg grinned, trying to lighten the mood as he did as Sherlock instructed. John huffed a laugh, and Sherlock managed a smile, both grateful that Lestrade was there to lighten things up a little bit.

"Thanks for doing this mate," John said to him.

"No problem, I'm just as worried as you," He said as he switched the sirens on to part traffic and move faster, "I like her, she's a good kid. What happened anyway?" As John explained briefly what had happened, Sherlock tried calling Lucy, even though he knew it would be pointless. He sighed deeply as it went onto answer phone. Truth be told, he hadn't been this worried since John was strapped up with bombs. But he knew things would be fine. They had to be. They always were. Lucy would be okay. Now that things had finally come to a head, they could solve this murder and go back to living in a little less danger. It was just after seven when they pulled up outside St Bart's hospital.

"Hang on Sherlock; do you even know who the murderer is yet?" Greg queried while both he and John look expectantly at the consulting detective.

"Yes. Or at least, I have a very good idea. I've had an idea for quite a while now, but getting the proof is near impossible unless I see them. I just need proof. And I have a feeling that the proof will be presented to us on a silver platter up on that rooftop." Sherlock looked up, he couldn't see what was happening, but no-one had reported any gunshots so Lucy was alive. For now. All three of them got out of the car, but Sherlock turned to Lestrade, "Can you wait here and call your other officers to come here? It has to be just me and John. If there are police up there, Moriarty will go through with whatever awful plan he has as soon as he sees you. We have a chance if it's just me and John."

"Fine, but be careful Sherlock." Greg looked at him seriously, "Call or text if you need anything at all." The detective nodded, but swiftly turned on his heel.

"Oh," Sherlock said, "Don't be expecting to catch Moriarty. We will catch the murderers at most, but Jim Moriarty always has an escape plan."

Into the hospital the two flatmates sprinted, racing as fast as they could to the stairs. Scaling the steps two at a time in record speed, the flung themselves onto the last staircase as they came rapidly towards the rooftop. Breath coming in pants, they stopped at the door. Sherlock flicked his coat collar up and John rolled his eyes.

"What are we dealing with here?" The ex-army doctor asked.

"Something dangerous." Sherlock replied, voice now emotionless, "If we go about this the wrong way, then this could end very badly."

"How do you mean?" John frowned.

"There could be snipers around perhaps. He did this to torture Lucy and kill her, what's to stop him now?"

"He wasn't going to kill her himself though."

"No, it's like A Study in Pink or whatever stupid title you gave it," John glared at him but Sherlock carried on, "Moriarty has been talking to her, showing her goodness knows what, making her want to take her life. If he's going to get his way then he will make sure she carries out his wishes of her death."

"How do we stop him?"

"We talk him down from it, have the murderers held at gunpoint so they can't help him. Although I doubt they will. There isn't much we can do. Either we change his mind or we don't. But either way, we have to make sure Lucy doesn't do anything. Who knows what he's been saying to her. By the looks of it, the killers have just made their entrance. So this is our cue." Sherlock sighed, "I don't know how we can stop this. We have to pray for a miracle."

"Don't be like that Sherlock. There's always a way." John gave him a half smile, "Let's do this."

"Yes, let's do this." Sherlock straightened up; making sure his coat collar was up before flinging the doors open as he strode out. Making both his and John's entrance rather cool looking.

"Ah boys, finally, you've come to play. Just in time for the show!" Jim greeted. Sherlock ignored him, noticing Lucy on the floor with a gun in her hands pointed at her head, tears streaming down her face. Sherlock knew he had to convince Lucy otherwise, that was their only hope. Chances are, Moriarty wouldn't have another plan to kill her, he wanted Lucy to kill herself, otherwise he wouldn't have as much... fun. But maybe Sherlock's plan wouldn't work. He had to try. Instead of making a snappy reply to the criminal mastermind, Sherlock turned to the two people by his side, whose eyes were focussed on the teenager. Instantly, he knew he had been right. And there was his proof. Addressing them first, John looked shocked as he said:

"Mr and Mrs Patterson I assume is correct."


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

"Wait, what?" John all but exclaimed in disbelief at Sherlock, who raised an eyebrow at him with mild amusement. "Excuse me, what?" John said again, "Mr and Mrs Patterson? Just... what? They're supposed to be dead!"

"Oh bless him," Jim said mockingly, "He is confused." Moriarty's eyes flickered over to where Lucy was still crying, unable to stop the constant flow of tears as her hands shook on the gun pointed at her head. "I'm rather enjoying this though."

"Just stop it," David Patterson spoke up for the first time, his voice was tight.

"We've done what you wanted, now can you let us all go?" Lily Patterson added.

"Ha," Moriarty burst out into a fit of laughter, "Oh you naive people, you thought you would get your happily ever after? You really thought that I would just let you go once I had my fun with you? No. I'm seeing this through to the end." His eyes glinted with malice.

"What is it you want?" Sherlock said before anyone else had a chance to speak.

"I think you know what I want." The consulting criminal replied, sounding bored. He turned to Lucy, "Oh just hurry up would you? I do have other things to be getting on with!"

"Don't listen to him Lucy," Sherlock said at the same time as Mr and Mrs Patterson. Lucy looked at them all, but ignored her parents, and instead turned to Sherlock.

"I can't," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

By this point, both Sherlock and John had edged over towards her, still keeping watch on Moriarty and David and Lily.

"Give me the gun," John said gently to her.

"No! Leave me alone," she yelled, her voice choked.

"Lucy please," Sherlock said as he crouched down to her level, Lucy's eyes locked onto his, "Don't give in. Don't let him win- because you know this is what he wants. And I think you've known all along that this was what he wanted in the end. Please, trust me." But the teenager just sobbed, bringing the gun into her lap while gripping it even tighter.

"Can you not," Moriarty interrupted their little moment with a look of annoyance.

"You really are insane," Sherlock Holmes growled at him as he stood up straight again; leaving John beside Lucy and he took a few steps closer to Jim and the two murderers.

"Oh thank you! I didn't think you'd notice," Jim said as though Sherlock had just complimented him on a new haircut. The consulting detective rolled his eyes at the childish behaviour his nemesis was putting on just to piss him off.

"And you two," Sherlock suddenly turned to glare at David and Lily (if looks could kill they would have dropped down dead by now,) "You two are just as bad! Killing all of those people. How on earth, do you think your 'daughter' is supposed to cope after all you two have done! You can barely call yourselves parents, you're pathetic." He was getting more and more angry at them, his voice rising with each word.

"We did it because we had to," David held his hands up; "He was going to kill us and Lucy if we didn't." Suddenly though, Lucy yelled:

"And you would have rather died than help him!" Hatred flashed in her usually mild eyes. "You would never have done any of this."

"Lucy dear, you have to believe us," Lily spoke up, "Either we all died, or we helped him and we could be a family again."

"No! That's not true, because his goal all along was to kill me and you must have known that. You'd rather save your own skins than save your only daughter." Lucy brushed the tears away furiously.

"Now this is much more exciting," Jim said, looking amused at the scene before him.

"Right now, no-one dare talk." Sherlock snarled, glaring at them all in warning, "Lucy, listen very carefully to me. And trust what I say." He looked at her with such caring emotion, she felt compelled to listen. Sherlock just hoped that what he would say would be enough to stop her from using that gun on herself.

"Finally," John muttered under his breath, "An explanation. I was wondering when I would finally understand." The consulting detective shot him a look, which silence the ex army doctor with a smirk. Moriarty lifted up one corner of his mouth, but otherwise let his enemy take the stage.

"I've been bordering on the edge of knowing who the killers were for some time, but it was just finding the proof." Sherlock Holmes, the great detective started, "But how do you get proof when the murderers are supposed to be dead? No one would believe me if I said who it was, so I had to keep it to myself. But how did I know it was Lucy's parents? Well, how else would they have gotten that video you showed Lucy when Sebastian Moran kidnapped her? Originally I- as many others- thought that it was filmed when they were still 'alive,' six odd months ago. But it couldn't be. After all, it was painfully obvious that the video was fake." Lucy looked at him in confusion so he elaborated: "The video itself had decent acting done by both Mr and Mrs Patterson, but it was their tone of voice and facial expressions that gave it all away. Both of your voices wavered, as though you didn't really want to say those things, and at one point it sounded like you- Lily- forgot your lines a little. Now, onto your facial expressions. Both of your eyes were tight and body posture was rather rigid. It was as though you were perhaps being threatened to do this- perhaps held at gunpoint or something like that. And at the end- Lily your eyes betrayed you. And judging by your broken finger I'm guessing you were punished for it." Sherlock's eyes glanced at her left index finger- which was slightly crooked; as though it had been broken and poorly re-aligned. Lily Patterson winced, but Sherlock had no sympathy for her, "Your eyes Lily, they watered and tightened and became red at the end as though you were about to cry. The eyes are supposedly the gateway to the soul- and yours were the biggest giveaway." He looked over to see how Lucy was, and her hands were still shaking, so he continued, "From then on I knew that either you were being forced to do this, or that you were doing this willingly."

"I got a note." Lucy said to Sherlock, as she retrieved it from her bag. "When Moriarty gave me the gun, this note was with it." She passed it to him and he read it.

"Here's a gun sweetie. Should you still be alive, it may be a good idea to end your pathetic life x," Sherlock read the note aloud before saying: "And that is presumably your father's calligraphy as well, so if that doesn't seal the deal then I don't know what else will." He smirked at them. "Clearly you don't care about Lucy, after all, why would you have done all of this willingly? And you did do this willingly, because why else would you have done all of this? A real parent would rather die than harm their children in any way. But you did all this willingly and uncaringly. The world is better off without you two."

"Oh I do love it when you deduce things," Jim said, lightening the mood in an ironic way. He was clearly enjoying this, which make Sherlock and John sick to the stomach.

"Hang on," John Watson said, still frowning, "They were supposed to be dead though? What was the blood and gunshots Lucy heard and saw six months ago. How did they die... but not die?" He sounded confused at his own question, but Lucy also seemed to want to know this answer as she turned to Sherlock- her flatmate and friend- expectantly.

"Easy peasey," Sherlock said, with a grim smirk. "When David went outside to answer the door, he was dragged onto the road away from sight. It was all part of a plan that they had pre-arranged, am I right?"

"Indeed," Moriarty confirmed with glee. David and Lily just nodded bitterly at being found out. Sherlock ignored them and continued.

"At that point, David would yell in fright which would signal to Lily that she was to go outside as well. Then, when Lily went outside- she would go out of sight near where that black Mercedes was parked. Yes, there were real gunshots- but they were both fired into the sky in quick succession out of harm's way. Simultaneously, blood would be poured from packets most likely taken from David and Lily beforehand in an unauthorised blood test. At that point, Mr and Mrs Patterson would get into the black Mercedes- Lucy wouldn't be able to see them through the darkened windows and the car would drive off." Sherlock looked pleased with himself. "Then, the next day, two bodies would be mysteriously found in a warehouse and then Lucy would have to go in to identify them. I'm guessing you- Jim- killed two people with slight resemblance to David and Lily and then altered their appearance; perhaps putting on prosthetic masks for identification. And there you have a perfect murder plan." Sherlock finished with a flourish. Glancing around at everyone's faces he said: "Have I missed anything?"

"I'm impressed Sherlock, I'm really impressed." Jim gave him a little round of applause in his mad way, "Did you like my elaborate plan? I was quite please with myself to be honest. What better plan than to turn people's caring nature into a nature of disinterest towards their daughter." He laughed manically, "Sometimes I do marvel at my genius. And it took you a while to get your conclusion didn't it Sherlock? You had to wait until Lucy decided to give up until you could get all of your evidence. How does it feel to be at mercy to a teenage girl?" His grin turned nasty, "How does it feel to have all these emotions for her." He spat the word 'emotions' in disgust. "Really Sherlock, you care far too much for her. John can't help his caring nature; his little mind is too clogged up with ordinary human things to worry about the real stuff. But I'm a teeny bit disappointed in you Sherlock. I thought you were better. I didn't realise you were so... weak."

"I am not weak!" The consulting detective yelled, getting close to his enemy's face. "Just because I've grown to like someone does not make me weak. Yes, I care, but I wouldn't say that's a disadvantage. Not when that person is willing to stick around and help you. Lucy has a good mind, she's intelligent. She's much better than you. You, Jim, are the ordinary one. You're just like all the other criminals." He saw the flash of anger in Moriarty's eyes and feeling that he was close to winning- he continued with joy, "You kill for fun, you help others in criminal activities for fun. Because you enjoy it. You do it because you are mad... you're mad, like all the other criminals. And you know what? I thought you were different." Sherlock stepped away from him in triumph, "You're like all the rest. You act like you're something better- like you're someone you're not. How dull. Moriarty. The consulting criminal. You're like a little schoolboy- fantasising about being rich and famous. So go on, play out your little fantasy because you know that you will never beat me. Despite your elaborate plans and your sadistic ways, I have been able to solve your little puzzles in an astoundingly short time. So what must that say about you? How rubbish must you be to be defeated so easily? I don't care how many people have died to catch you, because in the end, I will always catch you. So run. Enjoy it while you still can."

Sherlock stepped back on last step and opened his arms with a smirk in victory. The look on Moriarty's face said it all. It was obvious that he hadn't expected the consulting detective to say that. A worried glance to Lucy made his body fill with relief. She had stopped clutching the gun- which was now lying beside her, but she was still on the floor. However, her tears had stopped and she was smiling at Sherlock.

"There was no point to all of this," Sherlock said, to both Moriarty and Lucy, "Not really." He looked towards Jim's pissed off expression, "You did this because you were bored- you had nothing better to do than toy with people's lives. Now really, you have thought of much better plans than this." To tell the truth, Sherlock was bluffing just slightly, of course this was a rather brilliant plan, but he may as well keep the blows coming when Jim Moriarty was still weak.

"Why bother interfering if it clearly wasn't good?" Moriarty questioned as he tapped something out on his mobile.

"How else was I to save Lucy in the end?"

"Why do you care so much about her Sherlock?" Moriarty asked, his tone both angry and interested. "I mean, really. You've known her for a good few days- but how on earth has a teenage girl come to mean so much to you?"

"I don't really know." Sherlock admitted truthfully- more for everyone's benefit to hear than just Moriarty's. "It's like how I came to care for John so quickly. Lucy accepted me for who I was without judgement. Call it sentiment or whatever, but I don't care right now. When not many people will like you for who you are you tend to value those who do. And... I see some of myself in Lucy." He frowned, trying to figure out his words. He turned to Lucy with a small smile, "How you remind me of who I once was Lucy. I understand you in a way. I know what it's like to be deep into an addiction, and to feel so hopeless as though no-one is there who really cares or that there's no-one who will truly listen to you. And you're my friend. You're my family as Mycroft once pointed out." He stopped himself, "And this is getting far too sentimental even for my own liking." Suddenly, his normal self was in place.

"Don't lose yourself in sentiment Sherlock," Jim said as the sound of helicopter blades sounded nearby. "It really isn't a good look for you." As the sound approached, he said: "You'll be hearing from me again Sherlock. Don't think you've won this time, because you haven't. You will never truly win. If that means we are stuck in a stalemate forever then fine! I'm not finished yet." Suddenly, the volume of the sound of a helicopter dramatically increased as from above, a small helicopter came into view. It approached closer until it was directly above them. Putting a pair of sunglasses on, Jim nodded to Sherlock once and glanced at Lucy before walking to the edge. As everyone's hair blew from the wind of the flying vehicle, a rope ladder flew down which James Moriarty stepped onto.

John stood up and ran to Sherlock, but Sherlock held his arm out to stop him.

"He'll get away." John said.

"Let him. We won't be able to stop him regardless." He nodded his head up to the helicopter- pointed to the snipers stationed inside just in case. "Besides, if we were to catch him, even jail can't contain a man with connections like that."

"So what, we're left having to keep stopping him?" John Watson sighed.

"Pretty much." Sherlock grinned and laughed slightly, "For now, we've won. Let's leave it at that."

Lucy stood up, taking hold of the gun again in her hand. Her parents made a move towards her, but she stopped them with a venomous look. This wasn't how she imaged seeing them again. Instead, she walked on shaky legs to where Sherlock and John stood.

"Nice one," she said to Sherlock Holmes, who gave her a smile in return. Flipping the gun in her hand once, she gave it to him, "I don't think I'll need this anymore."

"Glad to hear of it," The consulting detective said. "But before we do anything else, how about we phone Lestrade, as I imagine he's dying to know what's going on." Sherlock strode over to the edge of the rooftop and looked down. Below, he could make out the figures of DI Lestrade, and his brother Mycroft. Another two police cars had arrived since they had left and were all standing around in anticipation. Greg spotted Sherlock looking down and he gave a short wave. Sherlock returned with one of his own as he felt his phone vibrate.

"Lestrade, fancy having you call me," Sherlock Holmes said.

"I'm guessing that was Moriarty in the helicopter," Greg said.

"It was, but we have the murderers." He looked back at David and Lily who had pretty much given up. Sherlock felt a surge of hatred for them. They had barely said anything for the whole time. They hadn't even said sorry to Lucy, they had barely tried to defend themselves. But maybe they realised they were in the wrong and were just accepting their fate with quiet silence. Either way, he didn't care what happened to them as long as they were found to be guilty.

"And who are the murderers?" Lestrade asked, "Do I get to find out now?" Sherlock huffed out a single laugh.

"Mr and Mrs Patterson. Lucy's parents."

"Wait, what?" Greg exclaimed.

"That's exactly what John said," Sherlock replied, amused.

"Are you coming down to the station tonight so I can find out everything?"

"Tomorrow would be better."

"Fine, tomorrow then." Lestrade had a smile in his voice. "How is Lucy?"

"I think she'll be just fine," Sherlock told him with a grin as he looked at her and John standing side by side, both of them glaring at her 'parent's.'

"I'm glad," he said, "Can I come and arrest them now? Mycroft also appears to be dying to have a go at them. But I'm rather worried he will kill them."

"Oh he will kill them if he feels like it." Sherlock laughed.

"Remind me never to get on the wrong side of him."

"I'll do that." Sherlock muttered, "Come on up, otherwise I have a feeling that either John or I will kill them- or we will soon make the expression 'if looks could kill' become literal."

With triumph in their eyes, they watching with amusement as Lestrade arrested Mr and Mrs Patterson. They didn't say anything, they just looked like robots. But as they were being led away, they turned to Lucy.

"I'm sorry it came to this," David said, but otherwise ignored her.

"Goodbye sweetie." Lily murmured, but she knew that Lucy would snap if anything more was said. Lucy merely nodded in acknowledgement, feeling that her life would be much better without them.

"Are you going to be alright?" Sherlock asked gently once they were back outside the hospital watching Mycroft go with Lestrade to take her parents away.

"I think I'll be okay now." Lucy looked up at him, "Now that I know what was really going on- after you explained everything, I just felt okay. I didn't understand before. And it nearly killed me... literally. But I think I'll be better off without them anyway. I have you and John, if you'll still have me, and that's all I need."

"Of course we'll still have you," John told her and she gave him a hug. "You, know," John started with a glint in his eye, "When Sherlock couldn't find you, he looked absolutely terrified." Sherlock flushed with embarrassment.

"Shut up," he mumbled. Lucy just laughed and wrapped her arms around Sherlock, who gratefully accepted and returned the hug.

"Thank you," Lucy said to them, "If it wasn't for you two, I wouldn't be here." Sherlock smiled as he hailed a cab.

"Well, things still get pretty mad with all the cases anyway, you get used to nearly dying after a while," John joked.

"Don't scare her off; I need someone around with half a brain." Sherlock frowned.

"Oh cheers," he said sarcastically.

"Trust me Lucy," Sherlock said, "Trust me when I say that everything will be okay."


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

The next day Sherlock, John and Lucy had gone down to the station to sort out everything that had to be sorted out to do with the case. It took them a while, but most of it was just Sherlock talking endlessly about all of his brilliant deductions while Lucy and John sat around drinking coffee. The previous night had been a peaceful one, with the flatmates watching movies for half of the night- or at least, John and Lucy tried to watch movies while a certain consulting detective constantly pointed out all the faults and ridiculous plots in the storylines. After getting bored of that they moved onto playing Cluedo- much to John's dismay and that didn't work out much better. Nonetheless, it served as great entertainment for the teenager who found herself in a constant fit of giggles at her friends bickering. Even when it was time for bed, Lucy didn't even look at the box where her blades lay as she happily drifted off into the most content sleep she had in months.

And yet, despite how better things had suddenly become, as she sat opposite Lestrade in his office, the young teenager couldn't help but feel a slither of dread bubbling up again. She knew she shouldn't feel like it, after all, everything had been resolved; but she still felt as though Moriarty wasn't done. And knowing him, he wouldn't be done. Leaving it with a wave and a helicopter ride was classy, yes, but it wasn't how he liked to end it. Lucy hated to think about it like that, but that surely wouldn't be the immediate end? There would be one last hurrah for the consulting criminal before he went off- helping others with criminal activities wouldn't there?

"Maybe it's just me being paranoid," she mumbled to herself, without really realising she spoke aloud. Sherlock turned slightly with a raised eyebrow, but she just waved her hand dismissively. After all, she probably was just being paranoid. Either way, John was giving her a funny look. She smiled at him, and he left whatever was on his mind.

A little while later, Lucy had excused herself to go and have a walk outside; there was only so much of sitting, listening to Sherlock ramble on that she could take. She'd already told Greg her side of the story and gave statements etcetera, so she was just wasting time regardless. John had seemed a tad reluctant to let her walk around on her own, but after a huff and a roll of Sherlock's eyes he gave in with a little convincing from both the teenager and the detective. But at last, she was strolling through the busy streets of London. Taking a deep breath of much needed fresh air, Lucy smiled in satisfaction. It was weird how normal everything seemed. None of the random people she passed had any idea of the danger that had befallen on her within the past week; they just carried on with their day to day lives, their ordinary, normal lives. But Lucy didn't regret meeting Sherlock and John, oh no. If it weren't for them, she would surely be seven feet under by now. Yet on the other hand, her life wouldn't be in constant danger if she never met them. John had told her all sorts of stories, and a good few of them involved their lives being in trouble more than once. But that didn't scare Lucy. Before her parents supposedly 'died,' the thought of being in constant danger would terrify her... but now it almost sounded exciting- exhilarating... thrilling. To look at the life she could have had and to compare it to the life she was now living, it was easy to see a huge contrast. But that's how she liked it. She liked the air of mystery, and the thrill of the chase, it made her feel alive. It made her feel something. It got the blood pumping through her veins, her heart beating a million times a minute. From what John had said, life certainly wouldn't be dull. And she liked the idea of their work. It was the sort of work she would enjoy. It wouldn't be the same, boring, mindless task day in, day out. Each day would be something new, something challenging. And maybe that's why Sherlock liked it so much. It kept his mind occupied, energised, thrilled. He didn't do it for the good of the nation... he did it to keep from exploding from boredom. And she could see the appeal in that.

After rounding another corner in a meandering route in which she had no idea of her final destination, Lucy stopped suddenly in her tracks as she looked at the green area of the park in front of her.

A man stood facing her from across the street. He was dressed in dark clothing, but had a recognisable smirk on his harsh features. With a rough hand, he drew back his coat slightly to reveal a glinting piece of metal, and Lucy quickly deduced that it was part of a knife. This was when she knew better than to run. But then again, she found out a while ago that it was better to not run. Sebastian Moran inclined his head towards her and made to move forwards, but Lucy stopped him with a subtle hand gesture beside her leg. Seb made no further move, but instead, folded his arms- waiting to see what she would do. With a level head, Lucy assessed the situation around her. The main reason she stopped him was because a familiar sleek, black Mercedes was parked a little further away from the park within eyesight. Of course it would be there. Lucy had a mobile on her, but it was best not to use it at this stage in case Seb noticed. With a casual step she made her was across the road to where Seb stood.

"Give me a moment," she muttered to him as she passed, moving towards the black car. Seb didn't even move, although Lucy knew he had heard her. Walking over to the Mercedes, she rapped on the window once. It wound down to reveal Mycroft's face in the back.

"Hello Mycroft," she greeted.

"Lucy, what a surprise." He said back.

"Obviously not as you have been following me for the past ten minutes."

"Well you know my brother; he likes to keep an eye on you." He said casually with a smile.

"Sure."

"So what are you doing, walking about like this?" He queried.

"Wanted some fresh air, got bored of hearing your brother talk endless about himself," Lucy opened her arms as though it was obvious, and she gave a rather convincing performance. "Listen Mycroft, there's no need to worry," she smiled, "I do believe my parents are in jail and Moriarty took off in a helicopter to Neverland so I think I will be okay for a bit." Mycroft smirked but didn't look convinced, so she continued, "I have my mobile if I need anyone."

"Very well."

"You're going to keep following me aren't you?" She laughed.

"Of course. I do worry about you Lucy." Mycroft looked at her.

"No need to. See you later."

"Goodbye Lucy." She waved once at him before heading back towards the park.

At that point she wasn't surprised to find that Sebastian was no longer standing there. After all, it would look a bit odd if they were both to go in at the same time. Lucy knew that she could be making another huge mistake, but there was nothing else she could do. If Seb wanted to talk to her, then he would get his way- and no doubt Moriarty would be there too. And for now, she would have to play along with their game once more, because otherwise she could be putting a lot of people in danger again just because of her stupidity. At least this way she was doing things on her terms with fewer people in danger. Nice and easy.

With a cautious step, she made her way into the park. Upon taking one step onto the more secluded pathway, Sebastian Moran immediately came out of hiding in the shrubbery. Lucy stopped and looked at him.

"Hello again," she greeted. Rather than saying anything, he just decided to incline his head in acknowledgement.

"Well then?" Lucy tried again. "What is it you want?"

"Look kid, the boss isn't happy," he sounded pissed off. "And fact of the matter is that it's your fault in the end. I know you wouldn't have thought that it would be the end of this; so here we are again."

"Marvellous," she said sarcastically, "There is no point in continuing all of this is there? You and Jim know that you won't win this immediate game. So why waste your time?"

"Like I said, the boss isn't happy." He shrugged, but Lucy could see how badly he wanted to hit her- and the fact that he had to be a good boy made her smirk at him.

"So where is Moriarty?" She questioned, getting bored of slow pace of the conversation.

"Come with me." Seb ignored her question and began to walk off to the other end of the park. Assuming that she would be taken to where Jim Moriarty was, she followed him. Besides, if she didn't, she had a feeling that the knife in his pocket would be put to good use very quickly. At the next exit in the park, was a car with blacked out windows.

"How obvious," the teenager rolled her eyes at the windows, but got in the car regardless.

The silence in the car was painful, but Lucy quickly recognised where they were heading. As they drove further on, the streets became quieter and quieter until no people were in sight. With such subtlety that surprised herself, Lucy sent a quick text to Sherlock.

I had no choice, I'm sorry. The game isn't over just yet. Getting a sense of déjà vu though.

A quick press of a button and the message was sent. Lucy put the phone back into her pocket before anyone noticed, and sighed at the familiar sight of the warehouses.

"How dull," she commented. Seb glare at her.

"If I didn't have strict orders from the boss then I swear you wouldn't be able to talk by now." He snarled.

"Of course dear," Lucy smiled sweetly as the man's face contorted into one of anger. In a quiet mutter, she said, "I think some cognitive behavioural therapy is needed." Luckily Seb hadn't heard her, and Lucy laughed to herself as they pulled up outside the grounds.

Lucy was the first to get out of the car and she wasn't surprised to feel no vibrations from her phone. She knew that he wouldn't text her back as it would be too dangerous if they were to know that Sherlock had information. But it also meant that he probably was already working with Mycroft to trace the car. Oh dear, she thought to herself suddenly, Mycroft won't be too happy with me. She ran her fingers through her hair and started to make her way to the warehouses with a dreading sense of déjà vu.

"Warehouse thirteen I'm guessing?" She yelled over her shoulder to Sebastian who was following her with a livid look on his face. He didn't reply, and instead, glared at her. Lucy was unnerved by this, but carried on anyways.

Warehouse thirteen it was then. Here she was, once again...

By this point Sherlock was starting to get just a teensy bit worried. God knows what Moriarty was planning. Or maybe he wasn't planning anything and decided to improvise his rage. Either way, Sherlock was now regretting his decision to let her take a walk. John was beside himself with worry on the other hand. And as the two sat with Mycroft in his car, they really began to wonder what would happen this time. After receiving the text, Sherlock and John immediately contacted Mycroft and got Lestrade and his team on the case. None of them wanted Lucy to come to any harm, but they couldn't guarantee anything by this point. As they sat in the car determining where Lucy was, Sherlock groaned.

"It's obvious isn't it?" He growled, "The warehouses."

"How do you know?" Mycroft asked.

"She said she was feeling déjà vu. That was just a subtle way of saying the warehouses." As no one made a move, Sherlock made an angry noise and yelled, "Drive! We have no time to lose."

As the sleek Mercedes raced towards the warehouse grounds, Sherlock sat impatiently. Wondering if they would have been too late...


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Lucy was now regretting everything. She knew she shouldn't have gone willingly with Seb, but she had no choice in the matter really. How stupid could she get? As she hesitated outside the warehouse, she realised just how serious the situation was. One false move and she could be badly injured, or even killed. Worst of all was how she was putting John and Sherlock in possible danger and making them worry again. Will she ever stop screwing up? Her confidence had wavered greatly. If she had refused to go with Seb, then she would have been hurt and brought here; but wasn't that better than saying she went willingly into the danger? Now wasn't the time for second thoughts. Squaring her shoulders, and throwing a swift glance at Moran behind her, Lucy threw open the door of the warehouse and entered.

The first noticeable difference this time around was that there were lights. Last time she hadn't noticed the light switch in the opposite end, but it wasn't very visible or top of their priorities last time. The bright lights illuminated the large building perfectly, and she took in her surroundings with a single look.

"Nice of you to drop by." A slightly Irish sounding voice said from the other side of the room.

"Well you know, thought it would be polite to come and say hi." Lucy shot back, as both she and Moriarty walked into the vast space in the middle of the warehouse until they came to a stop several metres away from each other.

"You expected this." Jim Moriarty said knowingly.

"Of course," she muttered, but she sighed heavily and looked around her- throwing her arms open, "But I had hoped you'd be more imaginative in your choice of venue."

"Ah," he smirked, "Couldn't resist meeting here. Call it sentimentality."

"Hilarious." Lucy glared at him. "What is it you want?"

"Oh just a nice cup of tea and a chat," he pouted mockingly.

"Enough with the games," She hissed, "It's over. You aren't going to win this time, so stop trying and save your energy." He just looked at her with annoyance.

"You know Lucy, what happened on that rooftop wasn't how I planned. I had to make that getaway because I knew things weren't going to work." Moriarty narrowed his eyes, "It's your fault. You're the one making Sherlock and John worry and run about like a loyal dog after you. How charming."

"Shut it," Lucy snapped, "What do you want with me?"

"Well, I was kind of hoping we could finish what we started earlier," he grinned.

"How original."

"Original is my middle name." James said with a smile. "So what you're going to do now is phone Sherlock and put it on loudspeaker. And you're going to say everything I tell you to."

"And if I don't?" She questioned, suddenly realising how bad the situation actually was. Moriarty cleared his throat, and from behind her, there was a sound of a gun being loaded. To check- she turned to look and was met with Sebastian Moran's cold eyes staring back as he pointed the gun at her. "Brilliant." She murmured. Turning back to face Moriarty, she inclined her head. "Fine."

"Thought you might play along with my game," he said with a slight smirk. "Phone him."

With shaking hands, Lucy reached into her pocket and withdrew her phone; pressing a few buttons, she dialled Sherlock's number and put it onto loudspeaker for Moriarty to listen to.

"I'd like you to act the part as well," he said as an afterthought as the dial tone sounded. Lucy just nodded her head. After just a few rings, Sherlock Holmes answered the phone.

"Lucy, are you alright?" He asked. Lucy looked at Moriarty who had come closer to her; with each sentence she waited for her instruction and then repeated what Moriarty had said.

"I'm fine of course, don't worry," she repeated Jim's words.

"We're on our way to the warehouses," Sherlock said to her.

"I'm not there, I'm sorry." Lucy tried to act the part as she was very aware of the gun pointed at the back of her head, "Look, I lied to you okay? There is no danger, there never was any danger." She took a breath as Moriarty told her what else to say. "I just needed to make sure you and John and the others were out of the way so that I could go to Baker Street without being caught."

"Why did you go to Baker Street?" Sherlock sounded confused, and the sound of their car stopping rang through as they now all listened to Lucy.

"To get my gun of course," she said sadly, repeating Moriarty's words.

"Lucy, what is this about? Tell me!" Sherlock said.

"I'm sorry. Everything I've done was my fault and mine alone." Lucy glared at Moriarty as she copied his words with a heavy heart, "This was always coming to me. My death. My suicide. I'm finishing what needs to be finished. Don't try to stop it. I've lost this battle alright? I always lose and I'm sorry it had to end like this." She made her voice sound fitting for the words, but she mouthed to Moriarty 'how emotional.' He didn't seem to appreciate my mocking, but she knew he had to make it sound as though she was the one speaking the words, which meant that emotion would have to be placed.

"No Lucy!" Sherlock yelled, "If this is Moriarty then stop him. Just stop him! It doesn't have to end like this. Where are you?"

"All lives end Sherlock. Goodbye." But before Lucy had a chance to hang up, Moriarty grabbed the phone and whispered in her ear:

"Let him hear." He threw the phone on the floor, neither end had hung up so Sherlock and the others could hear every word.

James Moriarty took a step back and Sebastian handed Lucy the gun he had been holding. With steady hands she took it. Moriarty smirked. And it was then that Lucy knew that there truly was no way out of this. Chances are that Sherlock had told whoever was driving to continue towards the warehouses; he would know that none of that conversation was true.

"Get on with it," Moriarty said gleefully, just low enough so that the phone wouldn't be able to pick up his words.

She knew she had to shoot herself. She knew this was how it ended. She knew that no-one could save her.

But Lucy had come prepared.

And the plan was pretty damn good if she did say so herself.

Almost as good as what Sherlock would be able to come up with.

Lucy had a bag with her. And since yesterday she had carried around a couple of things. Maybe it was good to be slightly paranoid at times.

She knew that Moriarty would want his revenge and she guessed that he would want to finish what he had started, so she packed her bag with a few key supplies that she would need in this exact situation. Yes, of course she hated herself for getting into the situation and for getting Sherlock and John involved, but she had to do this.

"Can I have a moment please?" Lucy begged Moriarty; the teenager's acting skills coming into further use, "Just one moment of privacy." She gestured to the door and he narrowed his eyes so the young girl said: "You know I won't run. I know that somehow you will get me anyways, so why prolong the inevitable? Please. I won't be a minute."

"Of course," he drawled, "Any more than a minute and I will kill you myself."

Lucy nodded her thanks as she walked to the door and stepped outside. Fumbling in her bag she brought out my items. She had the gun Seb gave her in her hand and she shoved it into her bag after taking the bullets out. From there, the teenager took out a small bag that was almost ready to burst. The bag was filled with red liquid, and it looked identical to blood. She had looked online as to how to concoct such a solution, and it was incredibly easy considering the amount of liquids and chemicals and resources Sherlock kept around the flat. With a bit of careful, but swift precision, Lucy had sticky-taped the bag to the back of her neck and her jacket. She let her hair fall and it easily covered it, making sure that it was impossible to notice. Lucy also grabbed a small rubber ball, which she carefully positioned under her arm, ready for the moment she died. The girl then picked up her last item. A gun. Yes... a gun. Luckily it wasn't too different to the one Seb had given her, and either way, they most likely wouldn't notice the difference as they would be too intent on watching her die.

Feeling as though she should get a move on and go inside, Lucy attempted to make it look as though she had been crying. She rubbed my eyes and managed to squeeze out a few tears, all for a dramatic effect. With the gun in her hand she strolled back inside to face Moriarty.

He stood, grinning at her, the phone still on in the middle. The troubled teenager walked up to him, twiddling the gun in her hand.

"I hope you don't mind," he started in his sing song voice, "But I have to rush off, so do be quick. Can't risk being caught now, can I?"

"Whatever you want," She said, making her voice shake slightly, "You know, Sherlock was right, you are pathetic. You are everything I expected you to be. How ordinary. Oh, but don't worry, I will kill myself to finish the game. But in the end... I. Always. Win." She sneered and took a few steps back. Lucy could see Moriarty edging towards the door. Deducing that he had gotten a call from a possible client, she knew that he needed her to hurry up so he could get on with his business- although he would see this through.

Lucy raised the gun to her head. And angled it to look like she was about to shoot herself.

"It's been fun playing your game." She hissed. And she briefly wondered how Sherlock and John would take to hearing the next part, but it wouldn't matter. Moriarty didn't say anything as he smirked at her.

Well, it was now or never. Lucy pulled the trigger just milliseconds after she had altered the angle by a fraction. The noise was loud enough to make her ears ring, and for a few seconds she lost her hearing. Simultaneously she fell to the floor, landing on her back, hitting her head roughly. Almost straight away she felt the bag burst and liquid instantly started to flow and pool around her head. The 'blood' trickled along the concrete floor, and from the way she hit her head falling, Lucy was sure that a tiny bit of her own blood was trickling out as well. Her body dropped and the gun clattered on the ground, even though she kept it in her grip.

Laying on the floor, she kept her eyes closed, and made her body go rigid. Lucy didn't even twitch- thank god. She squeezed her arm and felt the ball go into her skin. The teenager had landed awkwardly- meaning that her other wrist was trapped slightly. From beside her, she heard footsteps carefully walk towards her, clearly avoiding the blood on the floor. Lucy felt rough fingers- the ones of Moran's- check her pulse on her wrist.

"Dead." He announced triumphantly.

"Good," She heard the smile in James Moriarty's sadistic voice. "Shame, I enjoyed toying with her." There was a pause, "Just check for me though would you?" She felt her heart jump at his words.

"With pleasure," Sebastian said. Lucy heard his clothes rustle and she felt his hand on her arm.

Lucy felt the edge of a blade touch on arm; and she had to bite her tongue to stop herself from screaming or from moving. The blade dug in, just below her elbow, and it was drawn down almost to her wrist in one vertical, long line of crimson. She didn't even breathe as this happened, for fear of being found out.

"Yeah, she's dead." Lucy heard Seb say before a well aimed kick came barging into her left ribs. Footsteps sounded off and a door opened and closed, and all became deadly silent.

She wondered if they had both gone. But Lucy knew better than to move. She wondered how much Sherlock and John had heard. But she knew they would eventually find her.

Lucy felt blood seep out of the cut on her arm. It was deep, but she knew that he had missed the vein. Lucky me, she thought, there's a nice stroke of luck. He had missed it by about a centimetre she guessed, but it was enough to make a lot of blood flow. Long after they left she stayed on the floor, unmoving. Too scared to move in case they hadn't actually left.

What felt like an eternity later- but was in actual fact ten minutes- the door opened from the other side.

"Lucy!" The teenager heard Sherlock yell and several sets of footsteps sounded.

"Lucy!" John shouted, his voice shaking.

"She's in here," Lestrade called out from outside the door, probably talking to some police officers.

"Is she hurt?" Mycroft's voice rang out from outside the warehouse.

"Shit, no!" Sherlock's footsteps sped up. "She's been shot." He paused.

"Did she shoot herself?" John whispered, tears were in his voice, "And the cut on her arm..."

By this point Lucy really didn't know how to make it known that she was actually alive and okay. Was she to wait until they checked her pulse, which John was already doing to the arm where the ball was squeezed. Sherlock was applying pressure to the wound on her arm as more people entered. Lestrade and Mycroft had walked forwards and Lucy assumed they were looking on in shock. She really should tell them she was okay. But Lucy did feel a tad awkward.

"No pulse," John said brokenly.

"What? No! No!" Sherlock shook his head, "This was Moriarty, he made her do this. He dictated the words she said to us on the phone."

Lucy knew she was being a dick, not telling them by now, but in her defence, she was rather dizzy from banging her head and from the blood loss on her arm. Nonetheless, she slowly opened her eyes.

"Not dead." Lucy said. Silence. Sherlock, John, Mycroft and Lestrade all turned to just stare at her in disbelief. "Sorry about the worry." She grinned as she attempted to sit up. Without saying anything, Sherlock- from his kneeling position next to her- wrapped his arms tight around her body in a bone crushing hug. Lucy hugged him back with her non bleeding arm with equal strength.

"Sorry." She murmured, feeling awful, if not slightly proud at her accomplishment to fool the criminal mastermind.

"No need to apologise," Sherlock said softly as he pulled back. John then hugged her, and she could see he had shed a couple of tears.

"I truly am sorry," Lucy whispered to him.

"I'm just glad you're okay." He sighed, his voice ragged with relief. Even Lestrade bent down to hug her.

"Glad you're alive," He laughed.

"Thanks," she laughed back. Mycroft, not being the hugging type, smiled genuinely at her and said:

"You gave us quite a fright."

"Sorry about that."

Lucy felt John take over, applying pressure to her arm. A police officer came in and handed John a medical kit, which he gratefully took. As he tended to the cut- it wasn't deep enough to need stitches- Sherlock began pacing.

"So you didn't shoot yourself." He said, more as an observation than a question.

"No, I didn't, and I didn't do that cut either, that was Sebastian Moran's fault as they wanted to make sure I was dead." Lucy sighed, "Luckily I didn't make a noise or cry out."

"But what about the blood?" Lestrade asked, gesturing to the pool around her.

"Go on Lucy," Sherlock smirked, "Tell us how you did it."

"Well it was actually kind of easy." The teenager started, "I knew that Moriarty wouldn't just leave it there and that he would be back to finish what he had started. He didn't want to get his hands dirty so he would make me shoot myself. I knew that much. Yesterday, I took the liberty of preparing a few supplies to put in my bag as I was sure that it wouldn't be too long until he made another appearance. Anyways, when we got here after a few words he made me call you. You were right Sherlock, he dictated what I had to say, and I didn't have much choice in the matter as Moran was pointing a gun at my head. Once I stopped speaking, he put the phone on the floor and Moran gave me the gun he had been holding. By this point I knew there was no escape, I had to 'die.' At this time, I begged Moriarty for privacy, saying that I knew this was inevitable so there would be no point in running away. He accepted and let me go outside for just under a minute. In that time I put my plan into action. In my bag I kept a few supplies. First of all was a small bag bursting with red liquid. Back at the flat yesterday, I had researched how to make convincing looking blood- and luckily we had all the supplies I needed in the kitchen thanks to Sherlock's experiments. So I created my fake blood and put it into this bag as the bag itself would need to be very close to bursting, so that when I fell, it would break and the liquid will instantly be released. So with some sticky tape I taped the bag to my neck and jacket as you can see, which was in the perfect place as my hair easily concealed it. Next was this rubber ball," she withdrew it from under her arm and showed them it, by this point John had almost finished bandaging her arm, "When placed under the armpit and squeezed, this ball can easily stop the pulse for a short time. I needed this for when they checked that I was dead. I knew they would pick this arm as I landed rather awkwardly on the other, which did make it go numb after a while but never mind. The last thing I needed was a gun. And it had to be a gun which I could use without dying. And what better gun to use than a blank pistol? It took me a while to find one, but I eventually came across it when I looked around Sherlock's room- sorry by the way- but I found one under his bed. It luckily looked a little like the gun Moran gave me so they wouldn't notice the difference. This blank pistol meant that I could fire it, creating a loud bang that they needed, and it would do everything a normal gun does other than fire a real, dangerous bullet. Once back inside the warehouse, I raised the gun to the side of my head. Then, just milliseconds before I fired it, I shifted the angle of the gun upwards so that it fired and went nowhere near my head- as otherwise that could have been fatal due to the shockwaves. At the same time I fell to the floor, the bag burst, I landed still and squeezed that ball and when they checked on me I had no pulse and looked rather dead. Moriarty however, decided that he wanted to check my absence of life, which is why my arm is bleeding. Moran had a knife with him outside the park where he was waiting for me, which is why I went with him- otherwise I would have been threatened even further with the knife. Anyway... using that he cut my arm. It took all of my willpower not to cry out or move or do anything. But I managed it. I don't know how but I managed it." Lucy finished with a flourish.

"Genius," John said in disbelief.

"I must admit, that is a little impressive," Sherlock said, although Lucy could tell that he was actually really quite impressed by her plan.

"So what happened to Moriarty?" Mycroft queried.

"He went off somewhere, I'm guessing he had to go and be a criminal mastermind elsewhere," Lucy replied with a small shrug.

"There's not a lot we can do about Moran and Moriarty," Lestrade grumbled.

"Don't worry," Lucy said, "I don't think he'll be back for quite a while."

"You won't find him anywhere anyway," Sherlock said, "He's too clever for that. But he's no longer our immediate concern." Sherlock helped Lucy up onto her unsteady feet, "Let's go back to Baker Street and have a nice cup of tea. I think we all need one."

"Definitely," John agreed with a smile.

As we walked back to the car, Sherlock patted me on the back.

"Good work," he said, smiling at her. "I am rather impressed. It takes a lot to fool Moriarty."

"I quickly learnt from the best," She said, nudging him.

"I'm just glad you aren't hurt," He sighed, "Having you alive is much better than having you dead."

"Oh, thank you," Lucy said sarcastically, but she heard the consulting detective chuckle. With a sigh she asked: "What now?"

"What do you mean?"

"Is that it? Is Moriarty not coming back?"

"I doubt that," Sherlock shook his head, "I'm sure this isn't the end." He glanced down at her and stopped walking, he hugged her again. He could see the conflict in her young eyes, and he wondered if she was truly out of danger. He wondered if she was still in danger of her own mind...


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25 (Halfway to chapter 50)

John really couldn't express the sheer relief he felt when he realised that Lucy was alive and okay. He had been terrified. The thought of losing someone else he loved would have killed him; he'd seen enough violent deaths and injuries thanks to his time spent in Afghanistan, and he would do anything to make sure that his friends were safe. The drive to the warehouses had been incredibly tense. Lestrade was driving them there faster than he probably should be, not that anyone cared. Mycroft sat in the front, tapping on his phone occasionally, only to find that all of the CCTV around the property had been disabled... again. Sherlock and John, however, had been deadly silent. Both were too scared as to what would happen to Lucy.

"She'll be okay," Greg offered, trying to be optimistic, "I doubt she will walk into this blind."

"She's stupid for going with them," Sherlock huffed.

"Well, moments before she came over to my car and told me not to worry about her," Mycroft added, "So much for not worrying." He paused, "Lucy is certainly... independent."

"I wouldn't say that," John shook his head, "She doesn't like to be independent- but she's so used to being on her own that she doesn't feel as though she can talk to anyone. That's the problem we have."

"She doesn't talk to you two?" Lestrade asked confused.

"Not about the important stuff," John Watson sighed heavily, "You know she self harms, but she refuses to talk about it. Both Sherlock and I told her to come and talk to us if she ever felt the need, but she never mentions it. I just want to help her."

"I noticed something earlier..." Sherlock suddenly said, "I meant to say something yesterday, but I really didn't think I should after everything that happened, and I filed it away for later."

"What is it?" John asked.

"Her neck..." The consulting detective frowned, "There were cuts on her neck."

"What?" John exclaimed wide eyed, "How the hell didn't I notice this?" He looked close to tears.

"Because she hid it well, her hair was covering it most of the time. It was barely visible," Sherlock told him, "They aren't too bad, more scratches than cuts. But I'm worried."

"Sherlock," Mycroft's voice cut in, "She needs help. Professional help if that's how far it's going."

"No." Sherlock immediately said, "She doesn't want professional help. That won't help a single thing. Talking to strangers won't take away all of her pain. No." He looked surprised at his own outburst.

"Well if there's anything we can do," Lestrade said with a sad smile, "Then please, tell us. I like Lucy. She's a lovely kid. If you ever want to go off somewhere and you can't or don't want to take her, then I'm sure I can look after her."

"Babysitting suits you Greg," Mycroft smirked.

"I'm sure we can get Uncle Mycroft to babysit as well and play games," Lestrade shot back with a smile.

"Hilarious." The elder Holmes' brother rolled his eyes.

"Thank you Greg," John said happily, "It means a lot."

"I'm serious," The DI told him, "This isn't one of those offers where you say it just to be nice. I want to help if I can. You two shouldn't have to look after her all on your own." Sherlock smiled gratefully at him.

"I won't mention that I noticed her neck," Sherlock said, "I'd like to see if she would come to one of us first." John nodded in agreement.

Needless to say, they were all relieved when it turned out that Lucy had very cleverly faked her own death to fool Moriarty. No-one expected that one coming. But it was a brilliant plan she had. And Sherlock was, of course, actually rather impressed (which takes a lot.)

On the way home they were all rather quiet. But the silence was broken after a few minutes by Lucy:

"I am really sorry you know." The teenager said quietly, "It was reckless of me to just go with them, but I knew that I had a good shot at this, and the opportunity was perfect."

"Lucy, it's okay," John told her, "There really is no more need to apologise." She nodded once, but fell silent again until they got back to Baker Street. Lestrade, Mycroft and John all noted the four- barely visible- scratches on her neck with sadness. John could see that they had bled just slightly, but they weren't deep at all. He was just glad that she was alive.

At Baker Street, Mycroft and Lestrade stayed for half an hour while they all had a cup of well deserved tea. The conversation about the case thrived, and Lucy found herself giving consent to John so that he could write up the case on his blog- something he was excited about doing. Mycroft and Lestrade left just as night had fallen; both seemed to be greatly relieved that things were back to normal now.

Without prompt, Lucy went and got changed and showered, ready for bed. She had been fairly quiet all evening, which was very worrying to Sherlock and John. Neither knew whether or not she was going to cut- as Sherlock knew she hadn't the other night- so in reality he was kind of anticipating it sooner or later.

"Do you think she will be okay?" John finally asked while Lucy was in the shower.

"I don't know." Sherlock replied. "She hasn't self harmed in the past couple of days, but that probably means that all of those emotions are building up, which won't be good." He shrugged.

When Lucy came through, Sherlock noted happily that she still hadn't cut. Not that he could stop her if she did. But it was nice to know that she hadn't hurt herself recently. It was around nine at that point, and the young girl looked rather exhausted.

"Are you going to bed now?" John asked.

"Yeah," she replied.

"Hey, are you okay?" John questioned, "You've been very quiet all evening."

"Just been thinking about things, that's all," Lucy brushed it aside. "I'll be fine."

"You sure?"

"Positive." Lucy smiled, although it didn't quite reach her eyes. With a cautious step, she walked over to the ex-army doctor. The teenager opened her arms and wrapped John in a tight, warm hug. With surprise, he returned it, resting his head on top of hers.

"Thank you for everything John," she murmured to him so that only he could hear.

"No problem Lucy," he whispered. Letting go of him she stepped back a little. Sherlock looked at her, half wondering why she was hesitating when suddenly she spoke up nervously:

"Can you stay with me tonight?" Her voice was small and very quiet, and he could see the amount of courage it took for her to even think about asking let alone actually asking him. However she quickly backtracked, scared of being rejected, "Of course, it's absolutely fine if you don't want to. Just say so, I don't mind, I shouldn't need anyone to be with me. I shouldn't be putting you out. I'm sorry."

"Lucy, it's fine," Sherlock interrupted her babbling, "I don't mind staying with you- you know that. I'm more than happy to. You won't 'put me out' as you worded it. So yes, I will stay with you."

Lucy said goodnight to John as she headed off to her room. Sherlock stayed back for a moment to talk to John.

"I'm glad she's asked you to sleep with her," John told him, "I'm glad she trusts you. And this means that she won't do anything tonight."

"Exactly," Sherlock muttered, "She trusts you as well John, but I think she feels more comfortable with me staying with her. I don't know why. But she is." With a smile, Sherlock went off, getting changed into a grey t-shirt and pyjama trousers before walking next door to Lucy's bedroom- shutting the door behind him to find her already snuggled beneath the covers.

"Budge over," Sherlock muttered as he hung his dressing gown up on the back of the door in case he wanted to wear it in the morning. Lucy shifted over and was rather surprised when she felt Sherlock get under the covers.

"You're getting under the blanket?" Lucy seemed confused.

"Yes, is that a problem? I thought it would be more comfortable." Upon seeing her frown, Sherlock sighed slightly and quickly backtracked, "Oh great, have I gotten it wrong? Am I not supposed to do that? I thought it would be okay. Sorry." Sherlock looked apologetic as he made a move to get out.

"No, no it's fine." Lucy said, grabbing his arm gently so that he stayed under the covers, "It just surprised me to be honest, it's not what people normally do. But if it will make you more comfortable and warmer then it's fine with me. I shouldn't expect you to sleep uncomfortably on top of the bed."

"Oh, good," Sherlock seemed a little more relieved, now knowing he hadn't completely messed up. He tried his best, he really did; but he still wasn't good at all on the social rights and wrongs, not that Lucy minded.

They were quiet for a moment as they got themselves comfortable. And Lucy was glad of having someone near her; it calmed her, made her more relaxed and happy. They ended up so they were both lying down, although no doubt Sherlock wouldn't get to sleep and he would sit up; but he had his arm wrapped around the girl's shoulder and Lucy was turned in towards him slightly. The consulting detective looked at her young face, and upon seeing her frowning, with her eyebrows furrowed, he said:

"What's on your mind?"

"Well actually..." she paused, wanting to ask a question but feeling ridiculous for asking it, "It's kind of stupid but... I was wondering what you and John would have done if I had died." She twisted to look up at his pale face, his sharp blue-green-grey eyes observing her gently.

"What would John and I have done if we found you dead today?" He repeated, she nodded and added:

"Or on the rooftop."

"Well," he immediately said, "If I watched you kill yourself on the rooftop of St Bart's then I would never have forgiven myself- and neither would John. We would feel as though we didn't do enough to save you and look after you, and that would play heavily –especially on John's- mind. I don't think he would be able to recover quite so quickly. We would always wonder if we could have done something different that would have prevented the worst, and I don't think John would have been able to move on any time soon." His deep voice trailed off, pausing for a breath, "And the same goes for in the warehouse. If we found you dead then we would blame ourselves just as much. I know John would be absolutely devastated."

"Wait," Lucy said, "You say a lot about how John would feel... but how would you feel Sherlock?"

"You're asking this because you think you aren't important." He stated, quickly deducing her reasons, "You think that we don't care much and that we wouldn't care if you died because we've only known you for about a week." Lucy looked down, tears in her eyes, and Sherlock said softly: "Lucy, you may have only been here a week, but it feels like a lifetime. You are my friend. A very good friend. John cares about you... I... care about you, and believe me when I say that I find it difficult to admit that sort of thing. But, I don't honestly know what I would do if you were to have died. I don't want to think about that possibility. If John died... I don't know how I'd cope. I don't want to think about either of my friends in that position." He gave her a small smile, unsure of himself. Lucy smiled back, and rather than saying anything, she wrapped her arms around his body in a hug- which he returned after a second. The teenager gave him a smile.

"Thank you." She murmured, "You're right, I do think that neither of you would care much if I died. But I suppose that's because I realised that my parents didn't give a shit whether or not I died if it was for their own benefit." She looked down, suddenly seeming troubled as she scratched at her arm slightly. Sherlock shifted and placed a tentative kiss on top of her head.

"Get some sleep." He said gently. Lucy swiftly fell asleep as the soothing, deep, lull of his voice drifted off.

No stop! Lucy's heart leapt in terror as Moriarty continued to torment her while her parents just stood and watched on the roof of St Bart's hospital. Please no, she found herself sobbing. The tears streaming down her face as she felt her hand rise until the cool gun was pressed to the temple of her head. Worthless. Freak. Emo. Pathetic. Unloved. Unwanted. Over and over again. Repeating the same words. Her wrists were bleeding the vibrant colour of red, and she felt herself go dizzy. Worthless. Freak. Emo. Pathetic. Unloved. Unwanted.

She felt her finger pull the trigger.

Lucy awoke with a gasp and a whimper, feeling trails of salty tears cascade down her pale cheeks. Her hands shook slightly as she glanced over to where Sherlock was breathing slowly and evenly, for once he was sleeping. Being extremely careful, she shifted and almost silently wriggled out of the bed, glancing at her flatmate to check he was asleep. She wasn't sure how much more she could take of these nightmares.

Her arms itched. And she felt the urgency to cut dramatically rise. The urges were getting worse. She needed to feel the burn, the pain, the blood running down her arms. She needed the relief! To ease the emotional pain. She sobbed. But how could she do anything with Sherlock right near her? Of course she could go into the bathroom. But she felt as though she would be letting him down. Lucy stood there, scratching at her arms, unsure what to do as the tears kept coming.

Eventually making up her mind, she walked carefully over to the sleeping man on the bed.

"Sherlock?" She felt the anxiety rise, "Sherlock?" Lucy said his name as she touched his arm.

"What, what?" He mumbled sleepily, giving a slight grunt as he opened his eyes. Apparently he was quite a light sleeper as she barely even whispered his name and he still heard her. Upon seeing her tear-streaked face by his side he immediately sat bolt upright with a frown. "What's wrong?" He asked, unsure what to do. Lucy hesitated, looking at him, scared to admit her weakness.

"I just..." She tried to speak, "Oh I don't know!" She looked so frustrated with herself as she struggled to find the words to describe what was wrong. Sherlock gave her time until she said: "I had a really bad nightmare... and I..." She unconsciously scratched her arm. "I don't know why I'm telling you this. But I need to... cut so badly. Sherlock the urge is so bad." The troubled teenager sobbed. Sherlock Holmes took hold of her hands.

"It's okay Lucy," He reassured her, "Do you want to talk about the nightmare?"

"No, I can't..." She wiped her eyes although the tears wouldn't stop, "I just need to cut or something... I don't know! Please, can you leave for a moment?" Lucy knew she shouldn't ask him that, as he would know why she wanted him gone, but she just didn't know what else to do.

"I'm not leaving you in this state Lucy," he said gently, "If you don't want to talk about it then that's fine. Come on, come with me." He took her hand as he stood up and led her out of the bedroom into the living room. Sherlock noted that it was four o'clock in the morning- which meant that he had roughly three hours sleep; not that he was bothered. He sat her down in the comfy sofa as he quickly set about making tea for them both.

When he returned a minute later with the two steaming mugs of sweet tea, he was saddened to see her digging her nails into her skin on her hands. It was obvious that she rarely- if ever- ignored the urges, so it must have been tough for her. Passing her the drink, he sat down next to her, almost spilling his own drink in the process as he lumped down.

"Before you said that I had no idea what it is like," Sherlock started, "But I know what it's like to have an addiction myself. I said how you remind me of who I once was, and that wasn't a lie. I see a lot of myself in you somehow. Whether it's the intelligence or reckless actions I'm not sure, but, when I was younger I would do anything to keep away the boredom." He paused, as he watched her facial expressions, he could see that she was listening intently so he carried on. "For a while I used drugs. Cocaine mostly. Nothing bad, but I was still addicted. I found the urges getting harder and harder to resist. I ended up using more and more and it was a mistake. I almost killed myself once." He glanced over at her, worried that she would be disgusted. But he saw nothing but worry and loving in her kind, gentle eyes so he continued, "After that, I started to use less and less until I eventually managed to stop with some difficulty. I needed the drugs for brainpower. It staved off the boredom. It gave me something to do without my mind rotting. But then... for a few months at least... I too self harmed." He saw her shocked look and smiled at her. "I broke the blade out of a razor once. I was... very angry with myself." Sherlock seemed uncomfortable talking about all of this, talking about emotions, but he could quite easily see that it was helping Lucy so he kept talking. "I regret the first cut obviously. But I needed something. I needed to feel that release. And I didn't know what else to do. For those few months I would do it almost daily. But that was years ago." She had placed a hand on his as they both sipped their tea. "I have scars from it too." He added, holding out his sleeveless arm. "John knows obviously, but he's okay with it too." Lucy ran a finger along his arms. Both had some scars, although you wouldn't notice unless you were either deliberately looking for it, or if he had pointed it out. Some had almost faded; whereas some of the larger ones were just starting to turn white. "There's more on my torso." Sherlock muttered. Lucy looked at him in the eyes, and she smiled a genuine smile.

"What made you stop?" She asked.

"I started doing even more cases. Running about and solving crimes became satisfying. Besides, I didn't really like the scars," he frowned at his arms, "Yes, they are now a part of me, but they are a part I wish I never created."

"And what do you do now to cope?" Lucy faced him.

"I'm not sure," he chuckled once, "I have John to amuse me. I compose music on my violin. I busy myself with cases or experiments. On the very rare occasion I will smoke." He looked at her, "I relapsed several times actually. And I still get those urges. But it gets a lot easier after a while."

"Thank you for telling me this Sherlock," Lucy looked truly touched that he had confided in her, the urge to cut had slowly started to fade. "I want to tell you about me more... but can that wait for another time?" He nodded, sensing her weariness. "Can you play the violin please? I'd love to hear." Sherlock's face lit up as he finished his tea and grabbed his violin.

"I composed this one for you," he said, "Haven't finished it yet, but this is what I've got so far." With nimble fingers and a sway in his lean body, Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, started playing a beautiful melodic tune that soothed the young girl. It was happy, but sad at the same time. With a twist that was hard to mention.

The short version?

It was perfect.

"It's beautiful," Lucy murmured quietly to him. Sherlock heard and flashed a grin. Seeing that she was starting to fall asleep again, he changed the tune to a lullaby he had composed years ago. Letting the music wash over them both, Lucy drifted off into a peaceful sleep in a few minutes. Upon seeing her breathing even out, Sherlock smiled and put down his violin carefully. He walked over to the sofa and sat down beside her. He moved them both into a comfortable, lying down position where they slept for the rest of the night.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

That was how John found them at half seven in the morning. Both were on the sofa, during their sleep, they had moved so that Lucy was kind of sleeping on Sherlock's side, with Sherlock lying on his back against the length of the sofa. It was quite a sight, (and a miracle that Sherlock was actually still sleeping!) and it make John chuckle as he went to make himself some tea and toast. With a smile he looked at them and took his phone out. He pointed it at the pair, still fast asleep, and took a couple of photos. John pocketed his phone as he finished his quick breakfast. He was wondering why they had moved from Lucy's bedroom to the living room, but he would just ask the detective later on. Just before eight o'clock, John Watson chose a warm jacket to put on and pulled his shoes on as he got ready to go out. The rustle of his clothes eventually woke Sherlock Holmes- who groaned slightly in his sleepy state. Lucy flinched and woke up with a yelp as the consulting detective stretched- forgetting Lucy was sleeping on him- and he consequently hit her in the face.

"Good morning to you too," she mumbled sarcastically, rubbing her face and raising an eyebrow at the man beneath her.

"Get used to it," he quipped with a smirk, both of them were now fully awake.

"Good morning you two," John laughed at them, "Comfortable night's sleep?"

"Not really," Lucy sighed as she stretch, sitting on the detective. Feeling his leg go numb, Sherlock huffed and rolled his eyes before standing up without warning, making the teenager fall to the floor with a thud. "So, is this 'let's bully Lucy day today?" She muttered.

"Still not sorry," Sherlock mumbled as he felt the blood go back to his leg. The sofa had originally been comfortable when they went to sleep, but after several hours it took toll on the limbs sometimes. He looked at John suddenly, taking in his appearance before frowning: "You have work? Why?" Lucy stared at Sherlock, wondering how he could make a deduction like that especially moments after waking up.

"Yes I do Sherlock," John gave a half smile as he put his mug in the sink, "If you haven't noticed I've had to take a bit of time off for this case and for Lucy. They were fine with me taking the time off, especially when I explained the situation, but I really do need to go in and do a day's work now and then. You know... like normal people." He tilted his head at Sherlock pointedly.

"Oh, dull," Sherlock groaned. "Have a nice day." He then headed off to his room to presumably get changed and ready for the day. John Watson just shook his head in wonder at his flatmates odd antics. He turned to Lucy as she got up from the floor and sat back on the sofa.

"Why were you and Sherlock sleeping in here?" He asked casually.

"Well umm," the troubled teen rubbed her face as he came to sit beside her. "I had a bit of a bad night. I had a nightmare and woke up in the early hours of the morning, with a really bad urge to... cut." She sighed; she may as well be honest. "Sherlock didn't want to leave me on my own so he took me into the living room, made us both a cup of tea, sat me down and told me a bit about his own struggles." Lucy smiled, "And it really helped. The urge to cut went away. I asked Sherlock to play the violin for me and he did, and I must have fallen asleep while he was playing." John had wrapped his arm around her shoulders while she spoke to him, and the doctor found himself smiling at how she actually went to Sherlock and chatted because she was having a bad time.

"I'm glad," he murmured, bringing her into a hug, "Are you okay now?"

"I think so," she sighed, "I can never know when I'm going to get an urge, and that terrifies me. I don't know what to do."

"What about seeing a counsellor?" John suggested carefully.

"No." She shook her head, and he could tell how against she was to that idea, "I don't know. Don't worry about it. You should get to work." Sensing that she didn't want to talk anymore, he pulled away and gave her a smile, bidding her goodbye before he went off to the surgery.

Lucy went and had a shower before brushing her teeth and getting changed. When she walked out of her room and into the lounge, she wasn't surprised to see Sherlock standing there, waiting for her.

"You alright?" She asked him.

"Bored," he yelled, "John's out. I don't have a case and there is nothing to do!"

"You've only just solved a case!" She exclaimed back at him. He just grunted. "Well, what do you want to do? Visit your brother, go pester Lestrade? Have a jog around the city?" Lucy rattled off some pretty appalling ideas, but she had no idea what to do either.

"All boring." He groaned.

"Umm," she paused, thinking, "We could... go swimming, take a train somewhere, go to a park?" Lucy shrugged. Sherlock just sighed heavily as he paced. It was obvious- from the way he raised an eyebrow at her- that he didn't want to go swimming (although Lucy thought it would be hilarious to go to the beach with him.) But he didn't seem as bothered with the others.

"We could go to a park," he nodded his head to himself, "Take a walk around it. I did that with John once. It wasn't too bad. I know a park where it's never usually crowded."

"Sounds good to me." Lucy agreed.

After a quiet taxi ride to a part of London Lucy didn't recognise, both friends got out of the vehicle and walked into a large park that resembled a sort of Country Park. It was large- and you could probably walk for miles through it; and judging by the few cars in the car park, it wasn't crowded either. For quite a while they just walked along the path through the fields. It was hard to believe that such a peaceful and country-like park could be found in such a bustling, vibrant city!

The two came across and lush green field with recently cut grass and trees lining the edges- it was sealed off from the world and was serene and relaxing. Lucy walked a little further before promptly plonking herself down in the middle of the field. Sherlock followed her with a smile before sitting beside her, feeling a gentle breeze ruffle his hair, but enjoying the warmth of the day. Lucy took the bag off of her shoulder, placing it beside her before opening it up.

"Tea or coffee?" She asked the consulting detective next to her.

"You brought drinks?" He said, after all, he had been wondering why she was carrying a bag, although he deduced that she had brought some kind of drink with her by the sound he could hear of the sloshing of it. But he was still pleasantly surprised that they were hot drinks.

"Of course and it's just as well I did," she laughed, "Its miles until the next cafe or drink place." She looked at him. "While you decided to have a spur of the moment shower after we decided to go to a park, I thought I may as well make some hot drinks to put in a flask. And I also made some sandwiches in the unlikely case you get hungry."

"Um, thanks," he mumbled, "I'll have tea then." Lucy poured him a cup and added his sugar before passing him the steaming drink to him.

"How come you took us such a long way to go to a park?" Lucy queried, pouring herself a coffee.

"Because it's quiet and not busy. I don't like it when parks are too busy; it takes the enjoyment out of it." Sherlock Holmes told her as he took a sip of his tea.

"Thanks for what you did last night;" Lucy spoke up after a brief silence, "It really did help." Sherlock looked at her with a neutral expression.

"You're welcome. Anytime."

"Would you be angry at me if I didn't always go and talk to you or John if I got the urge again?" She asked uncertainly. Sherlock smiled, this was also why he had chosen such a quiet park. He knew that Lucy would probably want to talk about last night and about herself, so he thought that she would be more comfortable and open somewhere where they were alone.

"Of course I wouldn't be angry," he took his coat off and laid it on the ground before sitting on it, Lucy copied him and did the same with her jacket. "Neither of us would be angry because we know how hard it is and how hard it is to continue to resist that urge. The fact that you even came to me last night was a... big step," he frowned at his own choice of wording but carried on: "And I appreciate the fact that you felt like you could come to me. I understand that I'm not the most approachable person on matters- especially delicate matters. But I do care about you."

"Thanks, Sherlock." But she looked confused, "You know how that strange man... Anderson I think it was... you know how he said horrible things about you the first time I met him?" Sherlock nodded warily, "Well, why did he say that?"

"Because," Sherlock sighed, ruffling his hair as he thought through his answer, "As I said, I'm not an approachable man. And I can be, blunt to many; especially to people as stupid as him. The fact is he's jealous that I am a great asset to every crime scene he's on. I think he resents me for all of their team's successes. I frequently insult him and Donovan, so I hardly think that would make him like .because of the deductions I do about their life story. But it's who I am. And because neither John nor you judged me for it, I ended up liking the both of you, feeling comfortable around the two people who mean the most to me."

"I can't see how anyone could hate you," Lucy mumbled as she took out a sandwich, offering one to Sherlock who accepted- much to her surprise. "But then again, you can please everyone." There was a minute of silence in which the two ate and relaxed in the heat of the day.

"There are times I regret the first cut," Lucy started, Sherlock turned to listen to her, "But there are also times that I don't regret it." She glanced at him nervously, "If I stopped, then I feel as though I would just... die. I'm not sure how I would cope. I don't think I would cope. And that kind of terrifies me. The feel of the blade- it releases the emotion, the tension. If I feel too much emotion, it helps to numb it. And if I feel too numb, it helps to make me feel something. It's the one kind of pain that I can control. Sometimes, and I know it sounds bad... I do it because I'm bored. Because it's something to do. Because I'm too addicted and I just need to do it." She ran a hand through her hair. "It's both the best and worst thing. And I really can't imagine my life without it now. I don't want to see a counsellor. I don't want to talk to an overpaid stranger about my deepest, darkest secrets and emotions. I don't know what to do. There are times when I think about stopping, but I don't want to. I don't want to stop Sherlock. And I don't know what to do. I don't want to disappoint you or John." Sherlock study her sad and scared expression, seeing her inner conflict and uncertainty.

"You would never disappoint me or John," he shook his head. But Sherlock had no idea what to say. "So... what about reducing the amount you do it? Or find another coping mechanism?" He suggested.

"I've tried other methods of coping, but none work!" Lucy sounded upset.

"Have you tried holding ice in your hand until it melts?" Upon seeing the teenager's confused face, Sherlock continued, "It's meant to give the same relief. I tried it for a while myself. It wasn't too bad, it worked for a bit. But it may work better for you... or it may not work at all."

"I could try it," she sighed. But wanting to change the subject, she ended up asking: "How long did you know that my parents were the murderers?"

"Oh, well, you see, I had a fairly good idea when we went to your old house." He said, but offered no further explanation.

"You knew from that early on?" Lucy looked a little annoyed.

"Yes, I just had no way to prove it." He looked at her and furrowed his eyebrows, "Have I done something wrong?"

"Why the hell didn't you tell me?" She snapped.

"I had no proof, and at the time I didn't think it was appropriate to suggest something like that to you when I had no visible proof for you."

"Fair enough," she sighed, knowing that Sherlock had done the right thing, but feeling a little bitter about it anyway. Completely changing the subject, she asked: "What are your hobbies?" Sherlock laughed a little at the unexpected question, but he could tell she wanted to know him better so he said:

"Well, I like crime solving, experimenting, playing the violin and composing music. I like to draw and... dance." He admitted.

"Wait! What?" Lucy burst out laughing, "Dance? You, of all people like to dance?"

"Yes," he mumbled, now embarrassed, but he shrugged, "I can be unexpected when I want to be. Besides, I'm quite fit from all the running about, so I can do handstands and front flips and things."

"Really?" She eyed him sceptically.

"Yep, John doesn't know of course. Nor do most people, so keep it to yourself." He laughed at her still-shocked expression so he stood up and straightened his jacket. Taking a few steps forward, he turned to face her before jumping up and flipping his body backwards.

"Woo!" Lucy cheered and clapped him and he gave a mock bow as he sat back down again.

Lucy laughed. It was amazing how open he was being. He was away from the judging city where people would hate him for being who he was, and he was finally able to relax just slightly to a more fun man. Lucy liked this side of him especially, as it was so rarely seen by so few people. Admittedly, it seemed rather out of character for him. But underneath everyone's cold, tough outer persona, there was always a much more relaxed, fun side. And Lucy was glad that he felt comfortable enough to let her see him like this.

Maybe it was because of how they confided in each other. He clearly hadn't been very open with many people. But either way, Lucy was enjoying herself. Really, truly enjoying herself more so than she ever had before. And she finally felt as though she had a friend, and a family. She never had any friends; she never got on with people her own age. But something drew her to Sherlock. And deciding it was her turn to show off, she stood up and did a one-handed handstand before doing a back flip, landing on her hands, then feet before finishing with the splits. It was something she had taught herself when she had decided she wanted to be flexible and cool like gymnasts and talented dancers- so after many months of hard work, she had finally been able to do something like that. Sherlock gave her a round of applause with an amused expression on his face.


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

John Watson sighed heavily as he ran a finger over his brow, a pen in his hand as he filled out a blood test for one of his patients.

"There you go Mr Smith," He said as he handed it to the young man, "Get the blood test done at the hospital and then we will contact you if we need to discuss the results." Doctor Watson smiled reassuringly.

"Thanks very much," Mr Smith gave him a grateful smile before taking his leave.

John sat back and stretched, happy that it was now his lunch break for an hour. He briefly wondered what Sherlock and Lucy were up to, but decided to find out when he got back from work in the evening. He had something else he wished to do. The good doctor made his way into the reception room of the local surgery; the room was empty apart from Sarah. The surgery was always closed for lunch for approximately an hour, so it gave him the peace and time to talk.

"Good morning so far?" She asked with a friendly grin as she tapped away at her computer.

"Not too bad," John answered. He took a breath, "I'm really grateful for the time off you gave me, thank you."

"No problem," Sarah looked up at him, "How is Lucy?"

"I honestly don't know." There was a pause.

"What is it John?" She asked him, concerned. John Watson rubbed his face, leaning against the desk.

"I'm worried about her and I don't know what to do." Upon seeing her questioning expression he continued: "She self harms, I think she may have depression, and I swear she is far too skinny to be healthy."

"Have you seen her eat much?"

"That's the thing, we've all been so wrapped up in this case, and I don't think we've really had the time to have a proper meal. And I assumed her lack of appetite was from the case and the problems with her parents. But thinking about it, I'm not too sure. I've seen her eat, but she barely eats anything anyway- certainly nowhere near enough for someone of her age." He frowned.

"Have you suggested that she should see a counsellor? I mean, it sounds like these problems could have come from all of that." Sarah offered.

"I have, but she seems so against it." He shook his head. "I'm pretty sure her self harming has gotten so much worse, and I'm scared that she may take it too far."

"John, if you're worried, and if it really is that bad- then you need to think about what to do for the best. Sometimes, you need to think about what is in her best interests, as Lucy may not know what is best for her. She may not like it, but if she's in danger then you have to do what is best." Sarah told him gently.

"I want to Sarah, I really do." John sighed, unsure.

"Then what's stopping you?"

"I don't want her to lose trust in me; I don't want her to hate me for pushing anything on her."

"John, maybe the best thing to do is talk to Sherlock." Sarah started, "He's close to her isn't he? Talk to Sherlock and suggest what you think is best and then see what he says. Maybe he could convince her to get help?"

"I might do that," John smiled, "I want to help her, I just didn't know how."

"Try that and see how it works."

"I will, thank you Sarah." He stood up straight, noting the time, "Do you fancy getting food with me?"

"Sounds lovely." Then she flashed him a smile, "But you have to pay."

"You're still making me pay for that time you got taken by those black lotus smugglers aren't you?" He laughed. She nodded her head, laughing with him.

It was late afternoon when Sherlock and Lucy arrived back at 221B Baker Street. They had about an hour until John came home from work so they had some time to kill. The two had stayed at the park for several hours, just talking about each other and messing around. It had been nice. It kept Lucy's mind off of things for a while, and that was a welcome relief. Usually her mind was racing, dark thoughts always intruded even when she was having a good time. But for a while those thoughts left, and she was grateful for that. And yet, as Sherlock unlocked the door to the flat, she found herself scratching at her arms, at the cuts that littered her skin. It stung, and she loved it. But it scared her, she needed it. Clenching her hands, she put them behind her back, tapping her fingers in a rhythmic motion to get her mind off of the thoughts that haunted her.

Just before they reached the stairs that led to their flat, Mrs Hudson came out with her usual cheery smile to greet them. Their landlady –and their not your housekeeper who cleaned their flat all the time- gave the two a warm hug before going back to her own flat. Sherlock smiled fondly after her before heading up the stairs with the troubled teenager in hot pursuit.

The consulting detective launched himself into his chair with a huff; he picked up his violin and sat there, plucking at the strings as he looked at Lucy.

"Do you go to school?" He asked her suddenly. He hadn't really thought about something so trivial before, but he was curious.

"I haven't been since my 'parents died'," She responded. Sherlock smirked as he could practically hear the inverted commas over the words 'parent' and 'died.'

"Hmm," He nodded thoughtfully, "What year were you in, or whatever it is nowadays?"

"I had just started my GCSE course, so I was in year 10. I had two years left. Year 10 and year 11 and then I would have finished."

"So you would still be in year 10 if you were to go back?" He queried.

"Yes," she responded carefully. "Why do you ask?"

"I only just thought about it. I tried to delete school several years back; it's a terribly trivial and all round dull thing. But I was curious as to whether or not you intended to go back." Sherlock said, stretching out his long legs.

"I expect John would wish for me to go back." Lucy sighed.

"You wouldn't want to?"

"Well, I would have liked to complete my GCSE's and have some decent grades. I was taking triple science, history, French and drama- as well as the compulsory subjects." She told him. "I enjoyed drama a lot, it was my favourite subject. I also quite liked chemistry." She looked thoughtful for a moment. "One day my parents took me out of school a week before they 'died' and I never went back. I'm not too sure what had happened. Mind you, I didn't particularly like the teachers or the students, but hey-ho."

"What about starting a different school?" Sherlock suggested as he put the violin down.

"I don't know. I suppose I am meant to finish school but I don't know." Lucy shrugged.

"My brother could always get you your GCSE's. He has his ways as you well know." Lucy burst out laughing at this.

"As nice as that sounds, I wouldn't cheat like that. I'd rather earn them." She smirked, but looked amused nonetheless.

"I hated school," Sherlock muttered darkly, "Full of idiots. Full of Anderson's. I was much smarter than all of the teachers obviously. Besides, I kept scaring them off and embarrassing them in the middle of lessons whenever they had picked on me. Mother wasn't best pleased when I had to move schools twice, but my father found it funny."

John returned to the flat after a fairly quiet day at the surgery, on his way home he had picked up a Chinese for them all to eat. John found Lucy sitting, watching a re-run of Doctor Who on the television, and Sherlock was in the kitchen experimenting on what appeared to be an ear.

"John!" Lucy looked happy to see him and greeted him with a hug.

"Hey, have a good day?" He grinned as he hugged her.

"Yeah, Sherlock and I went to the park for hours. We only got back an hour ago."

"Sounds good." John went into the kitchen. "Hi Sherlock, I brought some Chinese takeaway to eat tonight, as I highly doubt whatever your doing will feed us."

"Oh I don't know John, I'm sure there may be some nutrition in human ears soaked in citrus acid." Sherlock replied, looking up at him.

"I don't even know what to say to that." John said, shaking his head in amusement as he prepared the food for them all in the front room, away from ears and experiments.

All throughout the meal he kept an eye on how much Lucy was actually eating. His previous concerns now surfacing as he focused on her. John hadn't put a lot of food on her plate, but when she ended up leaving a fair portion of it, he was worried. Not that he was going to say anything. He asked if she was full and Lucy said that she was, so he left it at that. But he decided that one meal wasn't enough time to make a conclusion on her eating habits.

After they had finished eating, Lucy went off into her bedroom to have a bath for an hour or so- which was perfect as John wanted to have a chat with Sherlock.

John Watson made both himself and Sherlock a hot cup of tea as they sat in the front room in their favourite chairs.

"Sherlock, I've been thinking..." He started, but found himself immediately being interrupted.

"Always a dangerous thing John, I'm beginning to worry that you may be overworking your little mind." But a sharp look from his flatmate shut the detective up with a smirk.

"I was talking to Sarah earlier today and..." John sighed heavily, "I think Lucy needs help."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, she may not want help, but we need to do what is best for her. She needs help that we can't give her Sherlock. I'm scared that her self harming is going to get worse, I'm concerned with how skinny she is, and I'm worried about how her parent's and all of that has affected her. She isn't happy Sherlock. And I fear that she is going to get more and more unhappy the longer she goes without professional help."

"She doesn't want help though," Sherlock frowned, "She hates the thought of it."

"I know you don't think that professionals help Sherlock, but they often do really help people. I know she doesn't want help, but the truth is she isn't going to get any better without support. There's only so much we can do. She needs more than we can offer her. Lucy needs someone to talk to with complete confidentiality, someone who is completely impartial." John took a sip of his tea as he studied Sherlock's expression.

"I don't know how much a counsellor could help if she doesn't want any help."

"We have to give it a try."

"She's going to be furious."

"I know, that's what I'm scared about." John let out a breath, "But we can't let her carry on this way. And I was hoping that you may be able to talk to her."

"You want me, of all people, to try and convince her to get help?" Sherlock said incredulously.

"Not on your own. I will talk to her with you, but I just think she may listen to you more than me."

"Okay then."

"Okay?" John frowned, "I was expecting more of an argument than that."

"You're the doctor; you always know what's best for people." Sherlock quirked an eyebrow, "I trust your judgement. You have her best interests at heart, and as I have little experience in the area of counsellors and that, I think it's best to take what you say as truth." John found himself smiling slightly at his friend's words. "Oh!" Sherlock suddenly said, "Lucy and I were having a conversation as well."

"What about?" John frowned.

"School," Sherlock said with distaste.

"Yes, I was beginning to wonder about that." John murmured. "I think she should at least get her GCSE's."

"I told her that Mycroft could get her the grades with ease, but she refused." Sherlock told him.

"Ha!" John grinned.

"I thought it was a good idea."

"Lucy might want to get them herself." John suggested, Sherlock nodded so he continued, "Well we'll talk with her about that later as well."

There was a quiet pause as the two finished their drinks. But suddenly, Sherlock Holmes frowned with worry. John made to say something, but the consulting detective held up his hand, signalling for John to remain silent. No noise could be heard. But then a muffled, retching sound pierced the silence. It was almost impossible to hear. And you wouldn't have heard it if you weren't listening for it. But with wide eyes, both Sherlock and John jumped to their feet and raced to Lucy's room.

Maybe John's suspicions had been correct after all...


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28

Sherlock didn't really know or understand fully what was going on. As soon as John had raced ahead of him and flung open Lucy's bathroom floor, the toilet was being flushed and Lucy was standing up, using mouthwash, and then backing away from John with wide eyes. It all happened so fast the consulting detective was confused as to what the worry was. John held his hands up as he walked forward.

"Lucy..." he started gently, "I know what you were doing so don't try and hide it..."

"No!" She yelled at him, interrupting his sentence, "You have no idea. I wasn't feeling well okay?"

"Don't lie." John said, but he kept his worried voice soft. "You are physically well, you were..."

"Stop it John," Lucy snapped, looking torn halfway between regret for snapping and upset. "It's none of your business." And then it clicked. Sherlock realised what was going on. He often didn't concern himself with knowing the ins and outs of mental illness unless he needed to, but he knew what John was implying. It made sense in his mind, but Lucy didn't seem too pleased.

"Lucy I know what is going on, I've been suspecting it for a while," John told her, keeping his voice calm, "I know you were making yourself throw up just now so please don't lie to me."

"It's none of your business."

"It is my business when you're in my care." John sighed, but ran a hand through his head, "In fact, while we're on this whole matter, we might as well talk to you about something we think you need right now." John Watson shot a pointed look at Sherlock, and the detective knew he wanted to bring up the topic of a counsellor. It was as good a time as any, but it probably wasn't the best due to the fact that Lucy was annoyed enough already.

"Should we take this through to the living room?" Sherlock suggested. Lucy looked worried, but decided to follow them through.

The young teenager looked incredibly upset already and she was terrified as to what John and Sherlock wanted to talk to her about. But she was glad that they had dropped what had happened just now so she was prepared to go along with whatever it was for the time being.

They all sat down and you could practically feel the tension radiate around the room. Lucy looked at them expectantly, but neither of them knew how to start without causing an immediate argument. Eventually, it was Sherlock Holmes who spoke up first:

"We were thinking that it would perhaps be best if you were to see a counsellor for a while." His statement was short, but it got to the point straight away. Lucy stared at them. She liked to think that it was a joke, but Sherlock looked deadly serious. Before the teenager had a chance to state her opinion on the matter, John said:

"I know you don't want to see anyone," he took a breath, "But there's only so much we can do to help you. I'm worried that one day, you may go too far unintentionally- or intentionally. And to not get you any help when you need it most would be an awful thing on our behalf. You need someone who you can talk to, who can help you more than Sherlock or I can."

"Please tell me you're joking," Lucy said evenly, trying to calm herself. Her nails were digging into her arms, trying to help control the emotions she was feeling.

"We're not joking," John said steadily. "We just want you to give it a proper try for a while. You can't go on the way you are Lucy."

"I know you're probably going to be really angry with us Lucy, but I think John is actually right on this occasion." Sherlock told her, "I don't want there being a chance that one day things will go too far. I would find it quite nice to see you get better one day, but for now I would like to know that you are talking to a professional who can help you and listen to you with full confidentiality and be completely unbiased. You may find it helpful." Sherlock was looking at her intently, examining the range of emotions on her face.

Upset.

Annoyance.

Outrage.

Anger.

Confusion.

...Hurt.

The last one surprised him, but he knew that she felt hurt because she felt as though they were sending her away. A look from John kept Sherlock from saying this information out loud though.

Lucy just stared into space, feeling utterly worthless. She didn't want to see a counsellor. She didn't want to talk to a complete stranger, and she certainly did not want help! But she knew that they wouldn't let her get away with not seeing anyone.

"I have to see someone don't I?" She questioned with a bitter edge to her voice. John nodded and she felt her heart plummet. Truthfully, the troubled girl had no idea what to say to that. She felt numb. She needed to get out, to feel the fresh air on her face. She needed to be alone... properly alone without people in the next room listening out for her. Lucy sighed heavily in despair, feeling helpless to her own situation.

"Fine." She said after a minute's silence. Sherlock and John looked back at her in surprise. Before they had a chance to say any more, Lucy quickly said: "I'm going to bed now."

"Do you want me to stay?" Sherlock queried gently, although he already knew the answer.

"No." She said before heading off without a backwards glance.

Sherlock ruffled his hair as John let out a big breath of air. The doctor glanced at his flatmate with a worried expression.

"Should we leave her alone tonight?" He asked.

"I think we should," Sherlock said as he stood up, "She is angry and annoyed with us enough already, we don't want to stir things up any more. I think she needs to be alone for a bit."

"But what if she... does anything?"

"We can't stop it from happening. If she wants to do anything then she will do it and it would be unfair of us to expect her to stop just like that." The consulting detective picked his violin up, "I know you're worried about her, but she needs space. I'll talk to Mycroft later, he knows a very good counsellor that Lucy could see."

"A private counsellor?" John Watson rubbed his face.

"Kind of." Sherlock shrugged, "But he's very good... apparently. Besides, I'll make Mycroft pay." That made John laugh softly and Sherlock smirked before continuing composing the song he made for Lucy.

As soon as she slammed her bedroom door shut, Lucy went straight for her sharpest blades. She rolled up the sleeves of her pyjama top and rolled up her pyjama trouser legs. The teenager took in a deep breath, feeling calm as she felt the cool metal beneath her fingertips. She brought the blade to her arm, and quickly dragged it across, relishing the relief it brought. Again and again she ripped in her own skin, the cuts soon becoming deeper than she intended. After a good five minutes of wiping away dripping blood, both of her forearms were covered in bleeding wounds. Even her wrists were bleeding more than usual. But it wasn't enough. Her heart was pounding and the relief was washing over her, but she needed more. She needed to punish herself for needing to see a counsellor, she needed to feel something other than all of the emotions of despair and hurt. So she brought the blade to her thighs. Normally, she wouldn't cut there- but she needed it so badly. The cuts were even deeper on her leg and she probably needed stitches, but she couldn't care less as she kept dragging the blade across in frenzy. It was like a trance, in a way she didn't realise just how bad it was tonight. Both of her upper thighs were dripping blood, but the tissues she placed carefully made sure that the bed wouldn't get stained with the scarlet liquid. Her arms were stinging, barely any skin left to cut on them, and her thighs were also stinging, the cuts scattered all across the pale flesh. With a shaky breath, she brought the blade to her neck. With the lightest pressure, she slowly dragged the shiny metal across the side. She repeated the motion, five times each on both sides. A few beads of blood dripped down, but they were only scratches... nothing to harm her- she made sure of that. Finally, she felt okay again. For almost an hour Lucy just lay there, happy that the emotions that plagued her had gone away for a while. Once everything had stopped bleeding, she cleaned up the dried blood, looking at the red cuts everywhere before looking in the mirror to check her neck.

Dammit. They were visible slightly. Only the ends of the cuts were visible but it wasn't what she wanted. With annoyance at herself, she angrily ran her hand through her hair as she put her blade away. A single, lone tear trailed down her face and she swiftly brushed it away.

She needed to get out. She couldn't risk Sherlock or John seeing her like this. She couldn't face seeing anymore disappointment in their kind eyes. Lucy hated herself for hurting them this way. But she couldn't stop, she didn't know how to, she wasn't even sure if she wanted to stop. And that was her great internal struggle.

After getting changed back into her normal clothes, black skinny jeans and a long sleeved top with a jacket. Lucy waited until she was sure everyone was either in bed, or out of the way. She knew she shouldn't do this; every time she ran off just led to danger and her friends becoming extremely worried. But she felt suffocated. She was hardly ever on her own and she just needed to walk without being followed and watched... at least for a while until either Mycroft found her or until her phone had 100 missed voice messages.

Opening her door a crack, she knew that John had gone up to his room to bed so she kept an ear out for what Sherlock may be doing. Tiptoeing out of her room, she was silent as she strained her ears desperately. She could hear running water from the room across from her, it sounded like Sherlock may be in the shower. So she shut her bedroom door and walked to the staircase. She had left her bed in the state of the old trick where there were a couple of pillows stuffed under the blanket. Simple, but enough to bide her time to go out for a bit. Lucy made sure her hair covered her neck as she descended the stairs, skipping the one that always creaked as she made her way down. A wave of guilt washed over her. She knew she was being stupid, but she needed the freedom for a bit.

Lucy opened the front door of 221B Baker Street and shut it almost silently behind her as she stepped out into the now dark streets of London.

It was night time. She would have much preferred to go out during the day, but she wasn't about to complain. The fresh, cool air felt amazing against her cheeks and she sighed in relief as she started to walk off at a brisk pace in no particular direction. She walked for a good hour or so, not even caring about the time nor where she was. After all, she had brought some money to get her back to Baker Street if she got badly lost. But she wouldn't worry about that. Lucy passed many people, surprised at how many people were still outside despite the fact that it was getting very late and heading quickly towards midnight. Lucy was even surprised to find that no mysterious, sleek, black cars were stalking her every movement. So either Mycroft hadn't realised she had gone out, or he had found himself a new mode of transport.

Lucy sniffled as she came across a park she recognised, but couldn't put a name to due to the fact that everything looked different in the dark. Without warning, she felt a tear snake its way down her cold face. The troubled teenager touched it in surprise as she found a bench to sit down in the deserted park. However, as soon as she sat down she put her head in her hands and let the tears flow freely. Everything had overwhelmed her. It was all too much. She found herself unconsciously scratching at her arms, feeling the fresh cuts begin to bleed again but she didn't have the energy to care. Taking her phone out of her pocket, she was surprised to see that there were no missed calls or texts. That really did shock her. Maybe they thought she should be left alone. Maybe they didn't want to disturb her and annoy her further. She suspected that was the case, but she couldn't help but feel a little bit upset regardless.

She pocketed her phone and put her head back in her hands again, letting the salty tears keep on cascading down.

A few minutes later she felt a flashlight on her face and the sounds of footsteps approaching.

"Hello?" A male voice called. "Who's there?" Lucy was surprised that it was a voice she recognised. As the footsteps came to a slow stop beside her, she brushed away the tears, not wanting to look up at the man standing over her in case it was someone who wanted to hurt her.

"Hey now," The voice said softly. Lucy let her face slightly peek out from her arms, but was met with a bright light, which made her squint. After a pause, the voice said: "Lucy?" He sounded shocked, and the teenager finally knew who it was. She brought her face away from her arms to look up at the man who had crouched down.

Greg Lestrade looked back at her with a soft, but concerned expression.

"Detective Lestrade..." Lucy said his name, although her voice was choked.

"Call me Greg," he told her gently. But he frowned at her tear streaked face. With a tentative step, he got out of his crouch and moved to sit next to her on the bench. Lucy made no move to stop him so he sat down and looked at her. "It's eleven at night." He said carefully, "What on earth are you doing out so late?" Lucy opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't find the words, a sob escaped her and she brought a hand to her mouth. "Hey now, it's okay." Greg Lestrade reassured her as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder. She leaned into his gentle touched and cried softly into his side as he whispered reassuring words to her.

"I'm sorry," she murmured once she was able to speak again.

"Don't apologise," he told her, he hesitated, "Does Sherlock or John know you're out here?"

"No," she admitted, "Please don't tell them! They'll be angry. Please... not yet."

"I won't at the moment, but they need to know where you are, they'll be worried sick when they realise you've gone."

"I left pillows under my blanket so it looked like I was still there." Lucy sighed, "I don't think they wanted to check on me tonight in case they annoyed or upset me further. I slipped out while Sherlock was having a shower and while John was in bed."

"Why did you run away?" Lestrade queried gently. Lucy looked up at him, feeling safe to tell him anything.

"Because of what happened earlier." She sighed before explaining: "They were saying that they wanted me to see a counsellor because they're worried that I'm going to get worse. And I just felt awful about it. I needed to get out for a while, I felt suffocated staying there under their eye and I knew that they wouldn't let me out on my own. So I snuck out." Greg nodded as he listened to her.

"Did you self harm?" He ended up asking gently and softly. His question was blunt, and normally Lucy wouldn't be annoyed, but she knew he was only worried.

"Yeah," the teenager told him quietly.

"Badly?"

"It's the worst it's been..." She suddenly felt really ashamed of herself. Greg squeezed her shoulder.

"How about we go back to the station, and I take a look at you to make sure you'll be okay. And if you need medical attention then we can get help." He suggested. By now she was too tired and emotionally exhausted to argue so she just nodded her head. Lestrade helped her stand up and walked her out of the park.

"Oh, this is where Moran waited for me." Lucy commented as she could already see the building of Scotland Yard after turning a few corners. Greg hummed in response.

"I was worried when I saw you, ya know," He said conversationally, "I was just about to head back to the Yard to finish up my shift when I saw you on the bench in the park. Didn't recognise you at first of course." They stopped outside the building and the light of the police station suddenly bathed them. Lestrade glanced at her but let in a quiet gasp. He grabbed her upper arm to stop her from moving away as he carefully drew her hair back. Lucy jerked underneath his grasp but knew it was pointless.

"Jesus Lucy," Greg muttered, she could hear the worried and sadness in his voice. "Let's see the other side." He instructed gently. She turned and showed her neck, which was identical to the other side. There was no point in arguing so she let him look. He sighed, "They don't look too bad thank God, but Lucy..." He didn't seem to know what to say.

"I'm sorry," Lucy said, looking down.

"Hey now, I'm not angry okay? And I know Sherlock and John won't be angry either. I'm just worried about you." He gave her a reassuring smile as she looked up at him before leading her into the building.

The DI took her into his private office to give them all some privacy. Donovan, who was still working, gave him an odd look- but a shake of the DI's head prevented her from asking anything. Feeling as though she could trust Greg, Lucy showed him her arms when he asked to see them. He kept his face neutral as he looked, although she could see the concern and sadness in his eyes. She didn't know Greg very well, but she knew he cared and she felt like she could really trust him- so she was happy in a way. He got out a medical kit from one of the drawers and pulled up a chair opposite her.

"I'm not a doctor, but I know how to care for things like this okay," He told her as he opened the kit up, "I had to take a few medical training courses. Can often come in useful." Lestrade carefully cleaned her wounds and bandaged up her arms. He took his time and worked gently to make sure he wouldn't hurt the young girl. "I don't think you arms need stitching luckily." He commented.

"I'm sorry Greg; you shouldn't have to do this." She told him sadly.

"Its fine," he looked into her eyes, "I'm more than happy to help. I told Sherlock and John the other day that I would be more than happy to help if they ever needed anything. And Lucy listen to me," He stopped what he was doing as she looked into his calm eyes, "If you ever need anything, then I'm always here to help okay? I know you don't know me very well, but you can always trust me. If you ever need to get away from Sherlock and John and you don't fancy spending the evening with Mycroft, then I'll be more than happy to have you over." He frowned suddenly, "I know this may sound weird," he laughed, "But I'm here okay? I've known Sherlock for a while, and he trusts me, so you can trust me as well." He thought for a moment, "Besides, I'm not sure what it would be like spending time with Mycroft- I'm the British government- Holmes." Lucy laughed.

"Thanks you Greg," She smiled at him for the first time genuinely, "It really means a lot." He nodded at her, smiling.

"Now, you arms are done, is there anywhere else that may need bandaging or cleaning?" Lestrade asked her seriously. Lucy hesitated, unsure whether to tell him about her legs or not.

"My uh..." She stammered but took a breath to calm herself. But before she had a chance to speak, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She took her mobile out and saw that Sherlock was trying to call her. She rejected the call and placed her phone on the desk, sighing heavily.

"You should call him back." Greg said gently.

"I know."

"Would you like me to call him?" He offered.

"Yes please," Lucy nodded. Greg Lestrade got his own mobile out of his pocket and started to dial the number. "Oh, Greg, tell John to bring some stuff for either butterfly stitches or stitches."

"Why?" He stopped his actions.

"Because, my legs may need stitches of some kind." She admitted.

"Can I see?" He asked.

"Well... not really, it's on my thighs so..."

"Okay, I'll tell John." Greg sighed in worry but gave her a smile which she returned as he called Sherlock.


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29

Sherlock stood outside the office next to Lestrade; he appeared to be on edge but hadn't said anything for several minutes now- which worried Greg. They had decided to give John and Lucy some privacy as he took care of her legs- John had came out earlier, saying he would stitch a couple of them that needed a few stitches, and put butterfly stitches on the others. The ex-army doctor's face had been slightly pale with worry for the young teenager but as soon as he went back into the office he had put a neutral mask on his face, no signs of concern showing.

When Lestrade had called Sherlock, the consulting detective was angry- furious even. Not at Lucy, but at himself and his own stupidity. Neither he nor John had checked on her for those hours as they didn't want to make the situation worse by invading her privacy and risking another argument- so they had left her alone. And yet, they really didn't expect her to run off again. Sherlock was annoyed at how simple it was to get out from under his nose, but considering Lucy had memorised all of the creaky floorboards on the stairs, he was only mildly surprised at how easy it can be to slip out without being noticed. While Sherlock had been rather loud and annoyed on the phone to Greg, the DI had tried to explain why she had run off- that she needed privacy and just needed to get out for a while without constant supervision. Sherlock Holmes wasn't best pleased with this excuse. John could begin to understand, but he was still upset nonetheless. Sherlock couldn't understand the need to run off without telling them, he thought that it would mean that no-one would have to worry all of the time. If Lucy had asked him, he probably would have let her out for a while- John may be against this but they would both know that Lucy needed her space now and then.

Sherlock groaned aloud, and Lestrade shot him a sympathetic look.

"Thanks by the way." The consulting detective mumbled slightly reluctantly. Greg gave him an incredulous look, his mouth open in amazement and he laughed.

"Did you just thank me?" The DI asked chuckling, "Were you actually polite?"

"Don't push your luck." Sherlock grumbled.

"Thanks for what?" Greg asked once he had stopped laughing.

"For looking after Lucy, you really didn't have to help her and clean her up." Sherlock fixed his mesmerising eyes on the man, "And don't go thinking that I'm going soft- John's forcing me to thank you on our behalf." He wrinkled his nose in disgust, "I don't think polite suits me."

"It suits you now and then. Besides, it offers a great form of amusement," Lestrade smirked as he saw Donovan raise a questioning eyebrow at his laughter from the other side of the room. "And there really is no need to thank me. I said I wanted to help and I stick to that. Lucy may not know me very well, but she trusted me enough to help her."

"It's just as well you found her," Sherlock Holmes said, "Mycroft is in some sort of... stupid, imbecilic meeting that is supposedly important. I doubt it's important. The only thing Mycroft finds important is his three square meals a day of cake." Lestrade couldn't help but snicker at that. "So he wouldn't be able to track her down for us. It's probably good that Moriarty has disappeared for a bit."

"Do you think he'll come back?" Greg Lestrade asked at the mention of the consulting criminal.

"Of course he'll come back." He answered bluntly. "He'll find out sooner or later that Lucy is still very much alive. But next time I doubt he'll go after her even if she is that one that fooled him."

"What do you mean?" Lestrade queried, confused. Sherlock shot him a 'keep up' look but elaborated anyway:

"I mean, that he's had his fun with Lucy, he's tortured her and broken her down until she could barely function, and he's left us to deal with the consequences. Now, he'll be after me." Sherlock took a breath. "It's always me he's been after. Lucy was just a bonus, something fun to toy with, an extra distraction. But he's been fixated on me. We're both complete opposites but so very alike all at the same time. John would be too ordinary and boring to play with- so he'll go after someone who can match and even better his own intelligence. Moriarty will want to get me. He almost killed me and John last time- so who knows what he's planning now."

"We all know what James Moriarty is like. We'll be able to stop him next time." Lestrade muttered.

"I won't be so sure." Sherlock shook his head. Lestrade frowned at this, but decided to make no comment. They both fell into a comfortable silence for another few minutes.

"Oi, freak." Sally Donovan started towards them.

"Oh dear lord are you really going to go around Anderson's house again?" Sherlock sneered, "Do you really have nothing better to do? You've used his brand of hair shampoo- which by the way- is for men, really not a good thing to do."

"No-one asked for your opinion," she snapped, face pale from his words. "I just wanted to ask how the emo is."

"I really wouldn't call her that if I were you," Sherlock growled as he took a step closer until he was right up in her face, looking down upon her with cold, unforgiving eyes. Sally was about to make another scathing remark but Lestrade quickly interrupted:

"Go home Sally, I'm not having that attitude here." He gave her a look that meant his command wasn't up for debate- so with narrowed eyes, she whipped around, picked up her bag and headed out of the building where Anderson was waiting for her.

"I would say thank you, but I think I've said it enough tonight." Sherlock Holmes muttered to Lestrade who chuckled in response.

Lucy looked anywhere but at John as he carefully stitched up her leg. There were two cuts that needed about three stitches each- this would leave minimal scarring. John had also been uncharacteristically silent while he worked, and the deadly silence was starting to put the troubled girl on edge.

"Please say something!" She finally broke the silence with a quiet, upset voice. John looked up at her in concern at her tone, stilling his movements for a moment.

"What would you like me to say?" He asked, slightly surprised.

"Anything! Whatever! I don't mind. Just don't be silent. I can't bear it. Yell at me, scream at me, and tell me how stupid and idiotic I am, but please say something!"

"Lucy... Lucy calm down okay?" He put a hand on her knee as he looked into her eyes, "I don't want to shout or yell and I have no desire to tell you off." He sighed, "I just don't know what to say."

"Why don't you know what to say?"

"Because what are you supposed to say to someone who you love and care about when you know how much they are hurting inside... when you know how badly they are willing to hurt themselves to control the feelings... when you feel as though nothing you say will make a difference and save them... when you are terrified that one day that person you love may take it too far." John frowned, "What am I supposed to say Lucy? You know how much I care. You know how worried I am. But me saying it again will just make you feel worse. I don't hate you. I'm upset that I can't help you. I just... I want you to be happy, but I can't help. I was petrified when I found out you had run off again. But I know that we won't be able to stop you if you ever decide to run off again one day- so I don't really know what to say because I don't know what to say to make things better."

"I'm so sorry," Lucy murmured after a pause, "And I'm being genuine. I am so sorry for doing this. I needed space to get out on my own without supervision. And I just can't stop cutting John. I don't think I'll ever be able to stop and you know what? I'm actually scared. I don't want to do this for the rest of my life." John had started to finish her leg as she spoke. "You shouldn't have to say anything. You being here, staying by me despite everything speaks volumes. I'm just scared of the silence, I'm scared that one day I'll do something that would make you hate me and kick me out. And I know you're not like that, but I can't help but worry."

"Nothing you could do or say would make me- or Sherlock- love you any less." John said softly.

"Thank you John." Lucy smiled as he let her pull her jeans back up again. "For everything. I can't promise anything... but I'll see the counsellor... I'll try and tell you next time that I'm going out. I'll try. Today made me realise just how much people care. Lestrade... he was great... I can't believe he would do something like that for me without barely knowing me. And you and Sherlock... you deserve more than the treatment I give you each day, but know that I'm so glad and grateful for you two and everything you do." She stood up as John stood up, her flatmate smiling and trying not to be too emotional. Lucy pulled him into a hug, resting her head on his shoulders and sighing contentedly.

As they walked out, Lucy also gave Sherlock a quick hug, which surprised him, but made him smile slightly nonetheless. John said that his precise and delicate operation went well- which they laughed at- and they started heading towards the exit.

"I'll leave you guys alone for the night then," Lestrade said as Sherlock walked off to hail a cab. He turned to Lucy as John walked towards the road, giving the two some space. "Listen Lucy, if you ever need anything, anything at all, then please don't hesitate to talk to me. If you just want to talk, then I'm here, and if you want to talk about any problems or worries you may have, then I'm here for you as well- no matter what okay? And if you need to get away from the couple," he nodded towards Sherlock and John as the consulting detective laughed at how his flatmate struggled to hail a cab, "Then feel free to call me and if I'm free, you can come over to mine or come over to the yard." He smiled at her and gave her a piece of paper, "My mobile number is on there if you ever need it. Don't be afraid to text. Sherlock always texts me, the bastard, any chance to undermine me and my team. Gotta love him."

"Thank you so much Greg, this really means a lot." Lucy smiled, feeling a little overwhelmed at his kindness. She stepped forwards and tentatively wrapped her arms around him in a gentle hug- which he immediately returned. "And thank you for all that you've done tonight." She let go and smiled at him, waving slightly as she jogged over to where Sherlock had just hailed a taxi.

The rest of the night went peacefully. Sherlock slept with Lucy again, both happy in each other's company for the night. John checked in on them twenty minutes after they went to bed. He smiled at Sherlock- who was still awake unlike Lucy.

"Do you think she'll be okay?" Sherlock whispered, still worried.

"I think she'll get better in time." John murmured back. But deep down, they were both scared as to what may happen. Moriarty would be sure to return and leave a new path of destruction in his wake- and if he did- neither of them were sure whether they would survive the consequences...


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30

The next few days passed peacefully. Lucy hadn't run off anymore, but had still cut every day, sometimes more than once. It was obvious she was getting worse. Sherlock always knew when she had self harmed; it was usually during the day as he had taken to sleeping in her room each night- which seemed to calm her. He told John when she had as well, and although initially John was upset at how regular it was, he was in a way glad that they could keep up to date with how often it was occurring so that maybe they could aim to reduce it. Sherlock had been a nightmare during the day when he wasn't doing anything- he had no new interesting cases, as whenever Lestrade brought a case round, the consulting detective usually solved it within ten minutes, with fifteen minutes at the most. On one particularly rare, sunny day, the three of them decided to go to the park that Sherlock had taken Lucy to. It was quiet again, but it was a welcome break from the vibrant, bustling city.

The day after Lucy had run off, Sherlock had phoned Mycroft to demand a decent counsellor that wouldn't be too idiotic. The elder Holmes' had immediately agreed and set about getting an appointment for the troubled teenager with his personal counsellor- who was supposedly very good; Sherlock had snorted at this but he was honestly glad that Lucy would be able to get help.

Lucy, however, was terrified at the thought of actually seeing a counsellor. Having to spill all of her deepest, darkest secrets to a complete stranger wasn't a particularly appealing thought. But... she wanted to get better. She wanted to be able to wear short sleeves again. And as she sat in the waiting room in the building where her new counsellor's office was situated, she found herself struggling to control her breathing. Panicking slightly, she scratched at her arms in an attempt to control the emotions. Both Sherlock and John had gone with her and would wait for the whole hour while she was there. It was the first appointment, so it was more of an initial assessment and chat about what the problems were, so Sherlock and John would go in with her for the first ten maybe fifteen minutes.

"Lucy Patterson?" A friendly female voice said as she walked out of her office. Lucy, Sherlock and John all looked up at her. "Hi, I'm Lisa; would you all like to come through?" She said as she looked at them all with a smile of her lips. They all stood up and followed her into her office.

"Sherlock Holmes," The great consulting detective said with a sceptical look on his face, holding out a hand which Lisa shook.

"John Watson," The doctor also shook her hand with a kinder look on his face than Sherlock.

"And you must be Lucy," Lisa said as she also shook Lucy's hand. It was too formal for the teenager's liking, but she guessed that the counsellor was just trying to be polite. "Sit down, please."

"What I want to do is get some information on what's been going on these past few months and the problems that have come with it if that is okay?" Lisa said to Lucy, "I'll just take a few notes for my use. Whatever we say in here is completely confidential. I don't share any information you tell me with anyone else. I may take a few notes just to help me work out what may be best to do and for me to refer to. I will only share information if I am concerned that you are of a great danger to yourself. Mr Mycroft Holmes has asked for me to come immediately to either Sherlock or John or himself with these concerns towards your safety though okay?"

"That's fine," Lucy nodded, "What would you consider a danger?"

"Well, if you confide in me that you have- for example- a bottle of pills that you will overdose on and we don't manage to solve anything or if I'm still worried, then I will be medically obliged to tell your family." Lisa explained, "Anything relating to your immediate safety is a danger. Self harm isn't though many think it is."

"Right... thanks." The teenager sighed.

"So Lucy, what has been going on these past few months?" The counsellor asked, and although Lucy didn't trust her, she thought it was best to be truthful. Lucy took in a deep breath; Sherlock (who was sitting next to her) took her hand in his in hopes of comforting her slightly. She took his hand and squeezed it tightly. John was concerned as he looked at Sherlock's face, the consulting detective clearly wasn't keen on Lisa- but he was never keen on professionals such as counsellors and psychiatrists. The ex army doctor gave him a warning look in case Sherlock decided it was a good idea to voice Lisa's life story; but Sherlock already had a pep talk from him before they left. John made it very clear that Sherlock was not to say anything, and that it wasn't all about him and this time they were here for Lucy so he told Sherlock that he better not say anything that may be regarded as rude and... well he basically told Sherlock to not be his usual self.

"It started with my parent's supposed 'death' several months ago. I ended up living on the street... and started cutting to deal with it all. I barely ate. I stopped going to school several weeks before. But it was all rather uneventful until I got attacked by a stranger; I had to go to the doctor's as my stomach had been badly slashed. That's where I met John. He took me back to his as he didn't want me on the street. And I kind of became a permanent fixture at Baker Street with Sherlock and John. The cutting was just getting worse though. And then- because Sherlock's a detective- I got caught up in one of the cases. I was kidnapped, attacked, fed lies and saw shocking truths about my parents. I almost committed suicide when it all came to a head. I found out my parents were alive and that they didn't give a shit about me," a tear started to trail down Lucy's young face, "they got put in prison. But then the criminal that started it all kind of kidnapped me again and I had to fake my suicide in front of them to stop being killed." Lucy rushed to summarise it, not wanting to linger on the pain of it all too long. Another tear fell and she cursed herself for being so pathetic. "I'd prefer to not talk about it at the moment." She added, as Sherlock ran his thumb over her hand in soothing circles.

"Okay Lucy, thank you." Lisa murmured, and Lucy was surprised at her professionalism, but was extremely grateful for it. "Mr Holmes and Doctor Watson, I understand you were the ones that wanted Lucy to get help. What is it you're concerned about?"

"We're concerned about how bad the self harm has got," John said before Sherlock had a chance to open his mouth, "We know it's getting worse and it's becoming more and more frequent. We're concerned with Lucy's eating habits- because although she struggled on her own- I want her to be able to eat better." He paused, thinking. John felt bad about saying his concerns in front of Lucy, but she shot him a smile- saying that it was all fine.

"We're concerned with some suicidal thoughts as well," Sherlock finally got to speak, "Although not an immediate danger, we are worried that thoughts of suicide will perhaps return if she doesn't get... _help_." He said the word with distaste. "Although how you are to solve any of the problems will be an absolute..."

"Sherlock..." John warned sternly.

"Fine. But how is she to help with Lucy's eating if she can't control Mycroft's daily binges of food?" Sherlock quipped. Lucy laughed, but John rolled his eyes instead.

"It's okay John, I've heard a lot about Sherlock Holmes," Lisa said with a twinkle in her eye, somehow understanding the humour behind what the consulting detective had said. Sherlock looked surprised, but pleased nonetheless that she heard a lot about him. Lisa turned to Lucy, "What is it that you personally would like to get out of these sessions if you wish to carry on seeing me?"

"Well..." Lucy sighed, thinking, "I do really want to try and stop cutting, but I don't know if I can..."

"We can work on that if you like."

"And I want to be able to move on from everything that's happened with my parents and all that happened these past weeks." Lucy admitted.

"Okay, brilliant." Lisa smiled. "Sherlock and John you can wait outside now, we will be about twenty minutes maybe." The two stood up. Sherlock shot Lucy a reassuring glance as they left.

There was a brief silence.

"Do you have any questions that you wish to ask?"

"How often do I see you?"

"At the moment, Mycroft request a starting point of two sessions a week whatever two days you want."

"How is Tuesday and Saturday?" Lucy suggested.

"Sounds good." Lisa jotted the dates down. "So what do you want to talk about?"

"I don't know..." Lucy was nervous again.

"Well why don't we talk about the cutting?"

"Okay..."

"Why do you do it?"

"Because it helps. It numbs the emotions when there's too much; and when I'm numb it helps me feel something. It gives me relief, a distraction."

"Why don't you want to do it anymore?" She asked kindly.

"Because... I can't carry on like this for the rest of my life. I don't want to have to keep covering up my skin. In a way I want to stop, but I also don't because it's one of the few things that keeps me going."

"What triggers it the most?"

"Everything about my parents." Lucy sniffed, feeling the tears coming back, "Knowing that they never gave a damn about me. They were happy to see me kill myself if it meant that they could go up in the world with their criminal activities." And... boom, the tears fell much to the teenager's dismay and embarrassment. "They never loved me. All they said to me was a lie and when I thought they died- at least I thought they loved me. Now they are actually alive and I know they hate me- and it's so much worse than before." She sighed, feeling all the emotions coming out, "And I'm scared that one day I may do something that would cause Sherlock and John to hate me, and I don't know what I'd do without them. I'm scared because I keep hurting and worrying them with me running away and cutting and everything. I can't deal with all of the emotions. I can't!" She furiously brushed away the tears and almost hated Lisa for being so damn professional. There was another silence while Lucy gathered herself. "Can I go?" She whispered, glancing at the clock.

"Of course." Lisa said, understanding. "Just a quick question... how much do you trust me on a scale of one to ten?"

"Two."

"Okay," she smiled, "I'll see you at our next appointment."

"See you," Lucy got up and showed herself out. She gritted her teeth. She thought counselling was supposed to help? Just saying all of that had made her feel so much worse. A tear trickled down her cheek and she quickly brushed it away. Lucy couldn't risk John or Sherlock seeing her crying immediately after or Sherlock would be bound to go storming back in with his coat collar turned up, mentally preparing himself to point out all of Lisa's faults in the loudest voice possible.

Once she came out and walked slowly back into the reception, her two friends jumped to their feet.

"How did it go?" John asked at the same time Sherlock said:

"Do I need to kill her?" Sherlock had been joking- Lucy could tell that from his twinkling blue green eyes. But there was a warning in his voice in case he did need to do something. John shot him an incredulous look, his mouth hanging open.

"Shut up." The usually mild mannered doctor said with a smile on his lips.

"I could make her disappear if necessary." Sherlock mumbled quietly as he fixed his blue scarf around his neck. But John was looking at the teenager, expecting an answer.

"It was fine." Lucy muttered in a small voice. Sherlock narrowed his eyes. He could see that something had happened and that she had been crying- her red rimmed eyes were proof of that. Although he was doubtful that it was Lisa's fault due to the fact that Lucy didn't seem annoyed or angry; she just seemed... sad. Sherlock was about to question further, but he saw John shake his head in a 'she clearly doesn't want to talk about it now' way. So he knew it was best to leave it. If John could tell when to not question, he should trust that as the last thing either of them wanted to do was make her feel worse.

The teenager didn't say a word as Sherlock and John walked outside with her. Breaking the tense silence, Sherlock said that he needed to see Lestrade about a possible case, so he hailed a cab to take them to Scotland Yard. They walked in and headed towards the DI's office, Lucy kept her head down as she was very aware of her red eyes that was a tell tale sign of her upset.

"Have a nice night with Anderson?" Sherlock yelled across the busy room of police officers to Donovan.

"You're a freak." She yelled back.

"At least I didn't give Anderson a..."

"That's enough Sherlock," John quickly interrupted, knowing the information he was about to reveal in a busy room.

"Piss off freak, as if you'd even know about that." Donovan retaliated- she also guessed what he almost said.

Sherlock smirked triumphantly as he opened the door to Lestrade's office without bothering to knock, and Lucy closed the door behind them.

"Thanks for knocking." The DI muttered sarcastically. He proceeded to give Sherlock a set of five old cases that hadn't been cracked. The consulting detective wasn't pleased that they were cold cases, but considering he had no new cases, he reluctantly accepted them.

But Lucy wasn't paying attention. Another tear fell down her cheek. She was so frustrated and angry at herself for continuing to cry, but she couldn't help it. It shouldn't affect her this much. All she did was recount what had happened recently and talk about her parents... but it hurt so much. It stabbed at her heart. Knowing she was never loved by her family was the worst thing, and she was actually scared that Sherlock and John may not like her as much as they say. How could she trust people who say they care if they would just happily drop her for their own benefit?

Keeping her head down, she brushed at her face to keep the tears from falling. Sherlock spotted what she was doing, but really didn't know what to say or do. John hadn't noticed and Lestrade was giving her concerned and worried glances. There was a moments silence once Sherlock had finished what he wanted with Greg.

"Can I speak with Greg alone please?" Lucy said softly and quietly, her voice broken sounding. Sherlock and John looked at her with surprised expressions- but nonetheless, upon seeing Greg Lestrade smile and nod, they left the room.

As soon as they had left, the DI had stood up and came around the other side of his desk; he pulled up a chair next to Lucy and sat back down.

"What happened?" He asked, frowning. Even Lestrade wasn't stupid enough to miss how upset she was. Lucy tried to speak but just felt more tears start to flow, her voice choked. "Come here." Greg murmured as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her in for a hug. She leaned into his warm chest. Actually, she surprised herself wanting to speak to Lestrade, but she felt like she could trust him. He wasn't a counsellor, he said he would be there for her, and she could talk to him about things she may be scared to tell John or Sherlock. She cried into him while he held her, thankfully he said nothing and that was gratefully welcomed.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled.

"No need to apologise." He said as she pulled back.

"It's just..." she took a deep breath; "I had my first counselling session today and it just... made me feel so much worse about everything." She ran a hand through her hair, looking at his eyes, "And I had to talk about my parents and how they trigger the self harm. And... it just made me worry."

"Worry about what?" He queried.

"Well they lied to me; they never loved me and were delighted to be rid of me. And I'm scared... terrified that Sherlock and John will end up hating me. They say they care and that they like me, but I'm scared it will happen again. I'm scared I may push them too far and they will end up hating me. And I don't want that! I don't know what I'd do without either of them." Lucy kept wiping the tears away. Greg considered what she had said.

"First of all, eventually talking about the things that hurt you will make you feel better. It becomes easier to talk about; it becomes less painful with time. You have to keep trying. And for what it's worth, I don't think it's possible for Sherlock or John to hate you. You could never push them that far. They care. Maybe you should tell them that, tell them you're scared that one day it may happen. I know whatever I say will probably not help or change anything, but you need to be honest with them. Keep going to the counselling sessions as they will help in time, but it takes a lot of effort- especially on your part. It won't be easy, I won't lie, but I know you want help deep down." Greg looked at her, worried he'd said the wrong thing.

"Thank you Greg," Lucy whispered, the tears having stopped while he talked. "I feel really bad for making you talk to me, you shouldn't have to feel obliged to or anything..."

"I don't feel obliged at all. In fact, I'm glad you trust me." He said with a grin.

"I'll try and talk to them today... maybe." Lucy mused as they both stood up. Despite the short chat, the troubled teenager felt a lot better. "Thank you." She said gratefully as she hugged him.

"Anytime. I meant what I said last night." He flashed a smile as he showed her out of the office.

She smiled at the DI in amusement when they saw what was going on outside. Lucy and Lestrade strolled over to where Sherlock was having another one sided deduction conversation against Donovan- who was joined by Anderson this time.

"Your wife is cheating on you Anderson, much like you're cheating on her." The consulting detective said loudly. "You're both as bad and stupid as each other."

"She's not cheating!" Anderson said exasperated.

"Of course she is! Why else would she go away for days or even weeks at a time with such short notice? From what I overhead you telling Donovan, she is constantly on her phone- what does that tell you? She isn't texting you so considering she is on the phone excessively, she must be chatting to someone she really likes. Coupled with going away for long times to the same place to visit an 'old friend' makes it blatantly obvious that she's cheating. Mind you, it's probably because she knows about you and Sergeant Donovan..."

"Just stop it, stop being so pathetic." Anderson growled, unsure what else to say.

"He's just a freak, don't bother wasting your breath," Sally muttered.

"At least I don't cheat on people." Sherlock Holmes countered, frustrated with the idiots.

"At least I have someone to cheat on!" Anderson suddenly yelled. Sherlock wasn't too sure what to say to that.

"Don't bother," John warned Sherlock. Greg Lestrade was leaning against the wall, Sherlock was just being his usual self and despite his officer's nasty comments, it hadn't escalated too much yet.

"Oh don't bother backing him up John. He is a pathetic, psychopathic freak who is incapable of human emotions." Sally told him, her voice dripping with spite. But Lucy had had enough.

"He's more of a decent human than you two will even be. Maybe it's jealousy, and that's why you always call him names. A bit adolescent don't you think? To bully in the workplace. He's just stating the obvious to you and surely its better that you know your wife is cheating Anderson than to be oblivious to it for the rest of your 'marriage.'" Lucy said annoyed; she was fed up with the way Sherlock got treated. Glancing at Lestrade, he smirked, proud of the teenager.

"Go cut yourself." Donovan snapped. It was in the heat of the moment, and maybe Lucy had been too harsh- that was going too far. Sally's eyes widened as soon as the words came out of her mouth. The teenager wondered how long it would take before something like that was said, and she was surprisingly unfazed. Pissed off? Yes. But terribly upset? No. Donovan's opinion wasn't important.

But Sherlock wasn't happy at all. As soon as the words were spoken he lurched forwards threateningly, John had to hold him back as they really didn't need a fight. Considering he was smaller, John was rather strong (however, the ex army doctor looked like he would love to rip her guts out.) Lestrade had started forward and placed a hand on Lucy's shoulder in case she either went to attack Donovan or if she needed comfort. By this point, Donovan had started backing off.

"How dare you even think of saying something like that!" Sherlock shouted, "How dare you say it when you know everything she has been through! You're pathetic. You're a disgrace. You are an obnoxious imbecile!" Over all the years of knowing Sherlock, no-one had seen him that angry.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it..." Sally said.

"It's not me you should be apologising to." Sherlock growled.

"Save your breath," Lucy said emotionlessly before Sally had a chance to apologise. "You wouldn't have said it if you didn't have meaning behind it."

"Sherlock, calm down," Lestrade instructed, his face trying to remain professional although he looked rather annoyed. Sherlock stood, and John placed a warning hand on his arm just in case. Lestrade continued: "Quite frankly, I am appalled at you unprofessionalism. That is completely unacceptable- especially in the workplace. You know what happened to her, so I'm shocked that you would even think about that. I'm disappointed. I don't want to see your face around here for a week, so you better sort out your attitude or there'll be more severe consequences. Anderson, you're on a warning." Greg glared at the two, and they seemed to accept their fate- knowing better than to argue as they nodded once before walking off.


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31

It was several days after the incident with Donovan at the station, and Lucy was still as bad as ever. She found herself cutting more and more since the first counselling session. The teenager had gone to her second session on Tuesday, and needless to say, it didn't go too well either. After just fifteen minutes she found herself so worked up and angry that she just got up and left without a word to Lisa. They had been talking about her parents again and how it had affected her and right now, Lucy just couldn't find herself able to deal with it all. It was too soon to be discussing how it was killing her inside, and Lisa pushed her too far to talk about why it influenced the cutting- so the teenager had walked out (John had dropped her off on his way to work and Sherlock was at the flat after a new case arose) and she went into the park with her blade in her pocket, found a secluded spot, and cut. Sherlock and John asked her how it went, but they already could guess so she didn't bother replying.

John had told Lucy of his experience with his therapist when he had returned from Afghanistan. But he had said that it was ultimately meeting Sherlock that had helped him. The thrill of the chase, the manic life that Sherlock had offered him... John said he saw the battlefield in it. As Mycroft had told him, John wasn't haunted by the war, he missed it. But as he said to Lucy- his therapist had helped him get through a large majority of things. Hearing John's tale had eased her worries about counselling in the long run, but she was still sceptical due to what it was doing to her now.

But she had been thinking about the advice Greg gave her, and she really did want to tell Sherlock and John how she felt. So yesterday, she had written a note explaining how she was scared that one day she would push them too far and they would hate her. Lucy had left it in the living room before she had gone to have a shower that night. It had been nerve racking, writing the note and leaving it there, so she was fighting to keep her breathing calm when she had finished her shower. Immediately- as she walked into the living room- Sherlock wrapped his arms around her gently.

"Never." He said simply, his voice conveying all the emotion needed. John had embraced her when Sherlock stepped back and had murmured:

"You have nothing to be afraid of. You're our friend, you're like family, and nothing you could do would stop us loving you any less."

She was glad she had taken Greg's advice.

That night she had listened to John's recollection of their case 'The Hounds of Baskerville,' that had happened a couple months prior to them meeting Lucy. She was fascinated by the case, but something kept niggling in the back of her mind.

Moriarty.

Sherlock said they'd had very brief interactions before. At a swimming pool where they almost got blew up. But other than that, he hadn't made an appearance since Lucy showed up. And yet, she found that hard to believe. Surely if he was so obsessed, he'd have shown up more than those few times? She didn't really know. All Lucy knew was that she could feel as though he'd show his face around soon and make his presence known. And right now she was scared as to what may happen.

Shaking off the thoughts from the previous day, Lucy was surprised to hear the door bell ring downstairs. Sherlock wasn't pleased by it and as soon as footsteps could be heard, he groaned- already knowing who it was.

"Brilliant." He grumbled. John was at work again so it was just Lucy and Sherlock at the flat. Sherlock had a new case from Lestrade, but it was only small and he was so close to finishing it already. In fact, as the consulting detective said, he hoped to be able to catch the criminal tonight in a specific night bar located in London. The criminal was a kidnapper who had recently took a young child from Regent's park late on Monday; but Sherlock had his homeless network on the case. They had found the man in particular and traced him back to a rough part of London. The child was suspected to be there, so when the man would go to his daily night bar, the police would go into the house, and hopefully find the child and Sherlock would capture the criminal in the bar and have Dimmock arrest him there and then. Speaking of DI 'Dim' (as Sherlock like to call him), Sherlock had been complaining about him for the past few days. He didn't like the fact that Lestrade was busy with another case which the DI had finished the previous day, and the consulting detective had been complaining that he couldn't take Dimmock's place. John had told him to shut up after every rant but he would still carry on.

The footsteps sounded near as the door opened and Mycroft Holmes entered the living room with his trademark umbrella swinging from his hand.

"Hello dear brother," he said in his silky voice as he invited himself in, "So sweet to see you again." His voice had traces of sarcasm but he smiled- although patronisingly- nonetheless.

"Hmm, speaking of sweet, we don't have any cake at the moment, so very sorry. Maybe Mrs Hudson has some downstairs if you haven't already eaten the lot." Sherlock told him with equal sarcasm. Mycroft didn't reply and instead sat himself down.

"Good to see you Lucy." He gave her a more genuine smile.

"Hello Mycroft," she replied with a grin- trying to not laugh at Sherlock's previous comment. Even though Sherlock didn't seem to like his brother much, Lucy however quite liked the elder Holmes' brother.

"Enough with the pleasantries, why are you here?" Sherlock sighed. Mycroft raised his eyebrows.

"I wish to speak with Lucy." He replied simply.

"No." Sherlock immediately said, his eyes narrowing.

"Sherlock..."

"No Mycroft. You can't."

"Why not?"

"Just... no." Sherlock glared at his brother. Turning to look at a rather confused Lucy he said: "Could you make us some tea?"

"Sure..." she muttered, thinking it better for them to decide whether or not Mycroft was allowed to talk to her. The young girl gave them a bewildered look before going into the kitchen.

Sherlock stood up and Mycroft followed him to where Lucy would be unable to hear. The elder Holmes regarded his brother with more kindness than usual, but kept his stance firm.

"Sherlock..."

"Don't start Mycroft." The consulting detective muttered. "Listen, if you tell her, then that will immediately put her in danger if I can't find a way to get around him."

"And if you were to have to make a last minute plan on that matter, how do you think it will affect her if you go through with it?" Mycroft folded his arms. "She will be in danger if we don't tell her, more so than if we did."

"I doubt that." Sherlock shook his head.

"You think John will be able to support her on his own?"

"He wouldn't be on his own." Sherlock told him, keeping his voice low. "There's Lestrade and... you- although I doubt you'll do much."

"I will do whatever I can." Mycroft looked a little insulted. "I may avoid caring as much as possible, but I care for her in the way I do for you or John. And what if it goes as we anticipate? Will Lestrade still want to help her?"

"Of course he will," Sherlock said, "He's a... good man. He won't turn his back on her."

"Good."

"You won't tell her."

"I won't."

"Really?" Sherlock raised a single eyebrow.

"Yes." Mycroft said firmly, "I still want to talk to her, but I won't say anything about it."

"What could you- of all people- possibly want to talk about with her?" Sherlock asked, confused at his brother's social side, "Are you going to chat about how the weather has been? Or talk about your ideal flavour of cake?"

"Hilarious." Mycroft muttered emotionlessly as they headed back through to the living room, "I want to merely ask how she has been."

"Fine. I have an experiment to finish." Sherlock muttered as Lucy came back, carrying a tray of drinks. Sherlock smiled at her as he took his.

"What do you say?" Lucy stopped him before he moved off. Sherlock looked at her with a disgusted face.

"Thank you." He grumbled as he walked away, giving her a glare over his shoulder.

"That's better!" She said patronisingly. Mycroft smirked as his older brother went off to his bedroom. Lucy laughed softly as she put the tray down on the table while Mycroft Holmes took a seat in John's chair and Lucy sat down in Sherlock's chair.

"Thank you," the elder Holmes' said pointedly as he picked up his cup of tea.

"You're welcome," the teenager said as she picked up her own cup and took a tentative sip of the steaming hot liquid. "There's biscuits there, feel free to help yourself. It's not like Sherlock is watching you, ready to take the Mickey." Mycroft smiled slightly as he helped himself to a custard cream. "So have you two finished your little dispute?"

"Yes, we have. No need to worry." Mycroft shrugged it off. "But I did want to ask how everything is going with Lisa." Lucy looked at him in surprise and amusement. The British government rolled his eyes and said: "Yes, I am genuinely asking you a question that could be read as seemingly caring."

"You're just as sarcastic as you little brother," she commented quietly. "And honestly? It's going pretty rubbish at the moment."

"How so?"

"It just seems to be making things worse at the moment... if you know what I mean." Lucy mumbled, and Mycroft knew exactly what she meant as he glanced fleetingly at her sleeved arms.

"Have you told Sherlock and John?

"No. But they know. Sherlock can deduce it of course." She muttered.

"Well I hope things eventually work out," he said, although Lucy could only just stop herself from laughing at how caring he was attempting to be. "Anyway, back to why I originally came. Look," he glanced towards the direction of Sherlock's room to make sure he wouldn't hear. "I don't want you telling Sherlock this. I can't tell you what I really want to say. But please Lucy... bear this in mind. Sherlock would do a lot for both you and John. Please... believe in him."

"You're being cryptic Mycroft." Lucy set her finished cup down and crossed her arms.

"Good." He smirked.

"Are you going to tell me what this is about?"

"No." He paused. "Do you trust Sherlock?"

"Yes." Lucy frowned, "Of course I do, he's the reason I'm alive."

"Good... that's good." Mycroft nodded, sensing Lucy's annoyance at the cryptic nature of this conversation but not explaining himself regardless.

"Oh for God's sake!" Sherlock yelled as he all but ran out of his room. "I knew there was something I missed!" He went into the living room where Mycroft and Lucy were looking at him in shock at his sudden outburst. Going over to his desk, he picked up one of the files from a cold case. "It's the wedding ring of course!" He shouted. "Stolen!" He turned to grin at the two people staring at him as he jabbed his finger to a particular point in a picture he held up. "How on earth did I miss that? It's so blatantly obvious it's stolen! Just look at the size of it, too small for her finger so the husband must have stolen it without thinking of the correct size. Besides, look at the way he keeps his clothes, as if he could afford a diamond ring that big, both of their clothes are from cheaper shops and are all over a year and a half old!" He took a breath, unable to control his beaming smile. "Well I'm glad that's solved." He picked the file up and walked back to his room with a spring in his step.

"What just happened?" Lucy queried with a giggle.

"I've learnt its better not to ask." Mycroft shrugged as he stood up and quirked the corners of his lips. "I best be off anyway, I'll see you around Lucy."

"Goodbye Mycroft," she murmured, still a bit miffed that he wouldn't tell her why he was really there.

"Goodbye brother dear!" Mycroft raised his voice as he walked out. Sherlock came out of his room and grunted his goodbye before putting a plastic container in the bread bin.

They spent the rest of the day watching re-runs of The Big Bang Theory. Lucy would constantly tease Sherlock that there were a striking amount of similarities between him and Sheldon- to which Sherlock would just poke her in annoyance.

"I'd like you to stay at George's house tonight." Sherlock said suddenly. Lucy looked at him with a half smile on her face.

"Who?" The teenager asked, trying not to laugh.

"George Lestrade, you're new apparent best friend." Sherlock frowned.

"Greg." Lucy started laughing, "It's Greg Lestrade." Sherlock huffed.

"It doesn't matter what his name is," Sherlock waved his hand impatiently.

"And what do you mean by 'apparent best friend'?" Lucy folded her arms.

"You two seem to get along very well; there wasn't a hidden meaning behind it." Sherlock said as though it was obvious, "Anyway, you're staying at his."

"Why do you want me to stay with him?" Lucy looked upset, "I want to finish this case with you."

"I know you do and I am sorry but John doesn't want you to." Sherlock said apologetically, "he's just worried as per usual because of the nature of this current case. Due to the fact that a young boy has been kidnapped, he is reluctant to let you go on this in case you get kidnapped as well, stupid because you are more than capable to look after yourself which you have proven so many times over the past week or so but nonetheless he has started to take the role of 'mother hen'." Sherlock barely took a breath as he rattled on.

"I understand."

"You do?" Sherlock frowned down at her, "I was expecting more of an argument than that."

"Well, I think considering everything that recently happened to me with the last case, it's understandable that John would be worried. Maybe its best- just this once- that I give in and let him have his way to ease his mind. But I will put up more resistance next time." She said the last line firmly.

"You're turning soft," Sherlock said with mild disdain.

"I'll harden up, I promise." She smirked and Sherlock nodded approvingly.

That night, Sherlock and John dropped her off at Lestrade's house on their way to the night club to catch their kidnapper. John had hugged her, but Sherlock was far too excited for pleasantries so he smiled said 'goodbye' and practically ran off back to the taxi, leaving Lucy and Greg laughing while John shook his head in disbelief.

It was just Greg and Lucy that night. The DI was surprisingly happy to have her over and babysit the troubled teenager. They started off by watching a marathon of series 5 of Doctor Who with Matt Smith, and they ended up trying out fish fingers and custard as soon as they saw the Doctor eating it in his first episode The Eleventh Hour. And the two of them actually found it rather tasty despite both of their presumptions. It was around nine o'clock when they ordered a Chinese takeaway. Sherlock hadn't been sure what time they would find the kidnapper as –although he would go to the bar every day – the timings were often all over the place.

"How has the counselling been?" Lestrade asked.

"Well I went for the second session on Tuesday and... well it went as bad- if not worse- than the first session." Lucy sighed as she took a bite of her sweet and sour chicken. "I ended up walking out after fifteen minutes. I couldn't stay... we were talking about my parent's again and... It just killed me."

"And what about the self harm? How's that been?" Greg sounded genuinely interested in how she was so she smiled at him.

"Worse I think." She replied with startling honesty. The DI looked a little worried. Lucy had brought over a small rucksack of things in case she had to stay over- it was full of clothes and her Doctor Who DVDs. But Lestrade looked like he was concerned something else was in it. Lucy, sensing what he was worried about, said: "I haven't brought anything over. I'm trying my best Greg. I don't want to do it round your house of all places." Her voice was soft.

"I'm sorry," he looked a little ashamed, "I was just... worried that I might cause it or something."

"You couldn't do that," She assured him. He gave her a half hearted smile, the concern still not fully gone.

After they finished their food, they went back to the living room to watch some more Doctor Who.

"Amazing how he found that painting the other day." Lestrade mumbled conversationally once the episode had finished. "It only took him... what... less than a day." It suddenly occurred to Lucy that he was talking about Sherlock instead of the Doctor so she said:

"That really expensive painting?"

"Yeah."

"He said it was so easy to find it was a wonder how even Anderson didn't know where it was." She paused, thinking. "Stolen wasn't it? They found it in the messy house of an ex-businessman. He used to be rich but then became redundant and lost all of his money to his ex wife and his children. Apparently he thought that the painting would win back the love of his ex or something ridiculous like that... unless he was planning to sell it." Lucy sighed. "I spotted a muddy footprint not too far from where the painting had been stolen. Sherlock had a look and suddenly he knew exactly what he was looking for. Amazing really."

"He's a bloody idiot at times but also a great man." Greg agreed.

"The Reichenbach Falls." The teenager said the name of the painting out loud. But then she laughed: "They gave Sherlock a gift of diamond cufflinks. He started to complain to John that he 'doesn't wear cuffs I wear buttons'." Lucy did a rather impressive imitation of the detective. "John told him to pretty much shut up and say thank you." She smiled at the memory of the other day. "All three of us got our pictures in the newspaper. That's a first. After all, the case that I was heavily involved in wasn't allowed to be published thanks to a certain member of the British government."

"Hopefully they can catch that criminal tonight without too much trouble." Greg murmured, "The press have been getting quite interested in them again."

"Yeah, we had some of the press outside our door yesterday about the Reichenbach Falls painting. They wanted quotes from all three of us. Sherlock didn't say much- we got our photos taken and then got into the cab he immediately managed to hail. I don't know why, but he's always successful at getting taxis as soon as we get near a road."

"Well I've been hoping that Sherlock can help the yard out. Heard of Peter Ricoletti? Probably not. He's a criminal who is Interpol's most wanted criminal since 1982 and we still haven't managed to get him. Sherlock wasn't saying something about him yesterday when he was doing a statement at the yard, he only mentioned it in passing- but there are hopes that he knows where to find the bastard." Lestrade looked a little hopeful. He looked at the teenager, "I really don't know what we'd do without him."

"Neither do I," Lucy smiled, "I don't want to think about not having him around."

That night, Lucy ended up staying over. Greg had a spare room next to his bedroom so she slept in there. Admittedly, while she was having a shower, the DI had checked every space in her rucksack- and he was embarrassed and ashamed to have done so. But he wanted to be sure. And Lucy had told the truth. He grinned- proud of the teenager. She hadn't brought any kind of blade with her, which meant she had probably not done it at all today. He was happy for her. And he knew that she was lucky to be so supported by both John and even Sherlock.

Greg Lestrade just hoped she could get better.

But even he was scared as to what may happen in the future.


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter 32

A couple of weeks had passed since Sherlock had captured the kidnapper, and in that time he had managed to also track down Interpol's most wanted criminal since 1982- Peter Ricoletti. It had taken him a week and a bit, but eventually, he led Lestrade and Scotland Yard to make another arrest. Needless to say, the press were suddenly very interested in the great consulting detective again. It was strange at first, Lucy thought, seeing herself, Sherlock and John on the front page of one of London's biggest newspapers- but it was all rather amusing anyway. The best thing of all was how Lestrade, Donovan, Anderson and some other officers all chipped in to buy Sherlock a deerstalker hat! The hat that had made him hit the front page in the first place. As they took the photos of him wearing it, the detective had the- please kill me now- smile plastered on his face. But the yard, John and Lucy found it hilarious.

It had been around a month since the teenager had moved in, although it felt like years to them all. Lucy had been going to her counselling sessions regularly, and managed to not walk out half way through again... luckily. Lisa had decided to focus on alternatives to self harm instead of talking about the troubled girl's family- after all, Lucy had requested to leave it for a while as she really couldn't talk about them. She knew she would have to face it sooner or later, but it was too painful to talk about them. And yet, even though she hated her parents, Lucy still wanted them back. Yes, they were alive, but she wanted them back to how they were when she was just a child. Or maybe the teenager just wanted a mum and dad again. But she knew that wouldn't happen. Sherlock and John were a bit like parents- at least, John was and if he really was, Lucy and Sherlock were sure he'd be the mother- but Lucy would never think of them as parents... or even carers; to her, they were her role models, people whom she admired, her flatmates, but most of all they were her best friends.

Several days after the whole Peter Ricoletti fiasco, Lucy decided (after her Saturday counselling session) that she would at least attempt to try one of the coping methods that Lisa had suggested. It hadn't been a great Sunday so far for her anyway, Sherlock was up all night doing an experiment so she was alone the night before, and the teenager had had another nightmare. There were always two particular nightmares- one where she relived the moments of her kidnapping and the rooftop showdown but the only difference was that her parents kept making it clear how much they hated her. And the other one was where something terrible happened to Sherlock or John. At least with the parent nightmare, she could kind of cope, but with the nightmare about her friends- she found herself waking up, shaking, tears streaming down her face as she gasped for breath. And she always cut.

So the morning after that particular nightmare, she had gone into the kitchen. Sherlock and John were down at the yard doing some kind of statement, so she had the flat to herself for a bit. Lucy set up all of the things she needed- the urge to cut was so bad but she was determined to wait and try what Lisa had suggested. She mixed red food colouring with water into an ice cube tray and put it in the freezer. She had to wait a while- much to her annoyance. So she distracted herself by watching some of The Big Bang reruns on TV. A couple of hours later, she was getting desperate and the teenager kept pinging an elastic band against her wrist- but it did little to calm the urge. Eventually, when she checked on her concoction in the freezer, she felt a sigh of relief escape her at the ice beneath her fingers. Lucy took the tray and popped an ice cube. She held it in her hand and squeezed, making sure to keep it over the sink as it melted. The sharp, cold sensation made her feel something akin to the cut of the blade. It wasn't exactly the same, but it gave her some relief. Feeling frustrated as the entire first ice cube melted, she swiftly popped another one out and repeated the process. The red liquid snaked its way down her hand and dripped in little splashes into the kitchen sink. It was fascinating.

The troubled girl was on fourth ice cube when the door opened.

"Lucy?" She heard John call out, but she was too busy squeezing the ice cube to really focus. The cold wasn't quite enough, but it was all she could really think about.

"What the hell!?" She heard John exclaim in fright. "Jesus Lucy stop." A hand on her arms jerked her out of her trance. She turned to look at John in confusion, seeing Sherlock observing them quietly behind him.

"What's wrong?" Lucy asked. Realisation dawned on John's face and a nervous laugh bubbled up inside him and escaped.

"I didn't realise that was ice," he admitted sheepishly.

"Really John, surely it was obvious? The consistency of the liquid is completely different to that of blood- blood itself is far thicker than water. Also, if you observe, there's an ice cube tray filled with red ice cubes beside her. And furthermore, why would she cut in the kitchen of all places?" Sherlock said with a good natured huff.

"Smart arse." John retaliated. Sherlock quirked an eyebrow and smirked. But he turned back to Lucy, "Did it work?" He nodded to the ice.

"Kind of," she answered.

"While it mildly replicates the feeling, it isn't the exact same." Sherlock muttered. Lucy nodded in agreement.

Over the following few weeks she began to develop even more of a routine. She refused to eat breakfast- much to John's upset- but she agreed to start eating a small sandwich at lunch, and then try and eat almost everything on her plate for dinner. It was hard for her. And she would make herself throw up at various points throughout the first week. Sherlock eventually managed to reduce it by distracting her- he would often offer her a chance to help him with his experiments and to try out her own experiments if she wished. And it worked. By the end of the few weeks, she was now eating all of the sandwich and her dinner, as well as the odd snack in between. John was proud and very happy, and he would often make his feelings known; Sherlock didn't make it clear, but Lucy could tell that he was pleased as well.

And in regards to her self harm? It still happened. Quite a bit although she hated to admit it. The nightmares still occurred when Sherlock wasn't with her, and after the first couple of weeks she finally plucked up the courage to tell him, after that, he did his best to stay with her at night as much as possible. This made Lucy feel awful- obviously- but she was just glad to get some relief from the intrusive dreams. She kept trying with the red ice cubes, some days it was only just enough, other days she instantly got frustrated and cut anyway- and some other days she just didn't even think about the ice and cut. The counselling was still going well, she made an effort to try and talk about her family, and even though she ended up crying each time, it was starting to make things hurt less.

Lestrade texted her quite a bit, and she was glad of the friendship that had formed. Lucy was always scared that he would find it weird to be friends with a teenager, but he had told her that he liked her and enjoyed her company so her mind was put at rest. On some days when she was just struggling with everything, she would give him a call and he'd instantly tell her to go over his to watch a movie or something, and if he was at Scotland Yard, he tell her to go over and just sit in his office for a bit.

A certain Mycroft Holmes hadn't been to visit so his cryptic conversation last time still remained unsolved and probably would until she found out what he was talking about. But she had found a small camera in the living room so she guessed that the elder Holmes' was checking up on them in his own way. Needless to say Sherlock removed the camera and threw it out of the window with a growl as soon as the teenager pointed it out.

Despite the fact that she had the pleasure of going on a couple of new cases with the consulting detective and his trusty blogger, she couldn't help but feel a weight over her chest. And she was scared. Scratch that. She was terrified.

James Moriarty was still the voice in the back of her mind. The criminal genius that seemed to be omnipresent. The spider in the web, looming over you, biding his time to strike. And she could feel that things would go wrong. She told Sherlock and John this. Sherlock kept a surprisingly blank and neutral face, John instantly reassured her but Sherlock's nonchalant attitude had confused her. And several neat, deep red cuts later, she still found herself worrying. She knew it was stupid of her and that she was just being pessimistic, but she didn't want what she now had to be ruined. It had been around two months since she moved in with them, and they were the best two months of her life despite having the worst few weeks of her life mixed in. She didn't want anything to change. And she wasn't sure if she could cope if it did.


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter 33

"It's an ear hat John!" Lucy heard Sherlock practically yelling as he threw the hat around like a child's Frisbee. From inside her bedroom, the teenager giggled. John hadn't been too happy of late with the amount of attention they were getting from the press, mainly for Lucy's sake, but also for the fact that Sherlock's 'private detective' status was getting closer to being an 'international public detective' status. But surprisingly, they hadn't had much to do recently. There had been no new cases interesting enough to warrant Sherlock's skills and so he had taken to moping about the flat being an insufferable pain in the arse much to the dismay of everyone else.

Lucy was studying. She laughed at herself for it but she was determined to get some decent grades for school. They'd decided together that she would go back to school next academic year and start in year 11. Considering most subjects had gotten rid of coursework, she could use whatever she had achieved when she had been in school to contribute to her final grades in Chemistry, biology, physics, history, French, drama, English, maths, RE and ICT. There were a lot of subjects to revise for, but she no longer had to worry about any coursework anyway. All she had to do was sit the final exams- thanks to Mycroft's help. She didn't really want to cheat, but she had given Sherlock one of her last reports with her predicted grades- all of which were straight A's; Sherlock had obviously not wanted her to be too stressed and get worse if she had too much to do, so he went off to Mycroft without first telling Lucy and told his brother to make it so she had A's in all of the coursework needed. So now she didn't even have to do drama. She was just going to sit the final exams. Yes, she was happy about this, but couldn't help but feel a little guilty.

When she came out of her room- several hours later, she giggled slightly at the sight of John- freshly showered, in his dressing gown and hair still wet as he sat reading a newspaper. He rolled his eyes at her but gave her a smile. She looked towards Sherlock Holmes- who was doing some kind of experiment in the kitchen and flinched at the sight of a mannequin hanging from the ceiling.

"Oh." She said in surprise, not sure whether to laugh or be worried.

"Mm, Henry Fishguard." Sherlock said as though that was a perfectly helpful explanation. Lucy knew better than to inquire further, and instead, grabbed a biscuit and sat down in the living room. John glanced up at her over the top of his newspaper with a small smile at the sight of her eating a biscuit, and the teenager almost rolled her eyes if it wasn't for the fact that she knew her flatmate was genuinely pleased. The sound of Sherlock's mobile text alert made Lucy jump slightly. The consulting detective made no indication that he had heard anything so John- with a groan- said:

"I'll get it shall I?" Making sure his dressing gown was thoroughly done up, the good doctor stood up and made a face at Lucy as he retrieved the mobile.

John Watson felt his blood run cold and felt the colour drain from his face as he unlocked the phone and opened the message. There was an agonising silence. As the seconds ticked by, John could feel Lucy's eyes on him but he wasn't sure if he would be able to actually say anything. He took a deep breath. It was only a matter of time, he reminded himself, and he knew it was bound to happen but... it was so soon. Sherlock was still focused on his experiment, and John was currently unable to say the words directly to Lucy so he walked over to the consulting detective. He held the phone out and took in a slightly shaky breath.

"Here." John murmured quietly.

"Not now I'm busy," Sherlock muttered as he adjusted the lens on his microscope.

"Sherlock..."

"Not now."

"He's back." John held out the phone firmly as the detective finally looked up with an unreadable expression. Lucy, unable to hear the conversation very well, sat munching on the biscuit feeling a little left out. Sherlock took his phone and looked at it:

Come and play.

Tower Hill.

Jim Moriarty x

Sherlock leaned back in his seat slightly, feeling disbelief course through him. Of course he had expected this to happen. But it had barely been two and a half months. He shook his head and put his phone in his pocket, shooting a glance at the troubled teenager who was staring at him with a slightly miffed expression. Giving up with the silent treatment, Lucy stood up with a slight huff of annoyance and joined the party in the kitchen. Opening her arms she said a bit too loudly:

"Is anyone going to tell me what's going on?" Sherlock and John looked at each other at the same time. Both of them didn't really want to say. The girl before them was actually beginning to recover, her self harm was improving, her eating habits were improving and there were little to no traces of any more suicidal thoughts. So they were scared that this may make things worse again. But they knew they couldn't keep it a secret. She- of all people- deserved to know. Sherlock seemed to sigh as he opened up the text message again.

"I didn't expect it to be so soon quite frankly." He commented as he handed it to her. Lucy's eyes scanned the text. They widened, and then narrowed, her whole body went tense as she glanced at her friends.

"Well shit." She muttered, not really knowing what to say.

"Are you alright?" John asked softly.

"Of course I am, it's just... it is soon. And... Does he even know I'm alive?"

"I reckon he knows by now," Sherlock muttered, "You're name and picture has appeared in recent articles on the front page of national newspapers, he's bound to know." But he paused, "It's doubtful he'll be after you again. He's had his fun with you for now; you were just an extra game before the main event." Lucy nodded, relieved at his words but concerned nonetheless.

"What now?" Lucy queried.

"Well, he wants to play, let's go to Tower Hill." Sherlock said, standing up and putting his coat and blue scarf on while John hurried off to get changed.

All three of them met Lestrade once the taxi had meandered its way through the seemingly endless crowds of traffic. The DI greeted them once they got past the police tape, but Greg didn't seem to know whether to look concerned for them, or to smile in greeting.

"Good to see you Lucy," he said to her as he wrapped one arm around her shoulder, pulling her to his side.

"You too Greg," she laughed. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Let's see it then." Sherlock muttered, rushing them, obviously more than keen to get on with the case.

With a keen eye they watched the security footage on one of the computers. Lucy bit back a laugh. It wasn't particularly funny but the sight of him wearing clothes like a king was rather amusing.

"That glass is tougher than anything," Lestrade murmured as they finished watching the tape.

"Not tougher than crystallised carbon." Sherlock shook his head, "He used a diamond." His voice was low. Lestrade started to rewind the footage; Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the screen once Greg had paused it at a particular moment. John ran his hand through his hair with a sigh; Lucy stared at the screen at the sight before them.

Get Sherlock.

Sherlock took a deep breath before turning round to smile at Lucy reassuringly.

"He let himself get caught." Greg muttered, "He hasn't taken anything as far as we know. But he somehow managed to break into the Bank of England, Pentonville Prison and the Tower of London and we have no clue how he did it." The DI looked confused, "I have no idea how or why."

"Hmm." Sherlock hummed in response as he thought.

"You know you'll be called on as star witness." Lestrade told him.

"I had guessed."

"Lucy won't be."

"Why not?" Sherlock frowned.

"Because Mycroft didn't let the story get out did he? There's no proof in the media that she was involved. Besides, I personally don't think it's a good idea for her to testify in court in front of him."

"Fair enough." Sherlock nodded. Lucy narrowed her eyes, but she was glad of this. Sherlock knew that if Moriarty wanted to walk free, then he could quite easily, to get Lucy involved even more would be pointless and possibly damaging to her health. "In that case, John can go to court with me to watch, and Lucy, I'd prefer if you were to not come."

"Okay..." she knew better than to bother arguing although she was a bit miffed.

"She can stay with me, I won't be at the Old Bailey, and I'll be in my office writing reports and things. She's welcome to stay in my office with me." Greg offered.

"That will be great." Sherlock muttered, still thinking about what James Moriarty had done.

"Thanks Greg," John smiled appreciatively. Lucy smiled at the DI.

Sherlock knew that this was only the beginning. He'd always known that all their encounters before now had just been little distractions, just the beginning of something much bigger. And now there was an even bigger game on his hands. He just had to play it right now. He knew that Lucy had cut when she went to bed that night, but he couldn't blame her. She wasn't stupid. She would know that this would lead on to something if their last encounter was anything to go by. But Sherlock was scared as to how far it would go this time. He saw John's worried expression and sat down opposite.

"You look concerned." Sherlock observed.

"No shit Sherlock." John muttered. Sherlock continued to look at him so John Watson sighed, "I know you're trying to keep Lucy out of this as much as possible but it's going to hurt her either way. I appreciate that Greg wants to keep her safe but I don't want a repeat of last time." He sighed, "She's just starting to get better Sherlock. How will this impact her? Will she become suicidal again?"

"I doubt it." Sherlock muttered. "She isn't involved like she was last time. Moriarty isn't interested in her as much. He's after me John. Me. Lucy has no reason to be affected if I can help it."

"You can't know that she won't be affected."

"Well she will just have to be able to cope."

"Oh brilliant, Mr Empathy, thanks for being so caring." John muttered sarcastically. Sherlock hesitated and steepled his hands, putting them in front of his mouth in his 'thinking position.'

"I don't understand what you want me to do." Sherlock said confused. "It's hardly going to be down to me if she gets hurt by this. I'll do whatever I can to stop her being hurt, but I refuse to keep her out of this case, look what happened last time we did, it made her worse than better."

"I guess you're right but Sherlock," John frowned, "You need to just think about how this will affect her and perhaps try and be a little sympathetic."

"She's fine, she said she was fine about it all- stop worrying." Sherlock jumped up and walked into the kitchen.

"That's not the point." John sighed, "You obviously aren't going to understand but you don't know how she is really feeling inside, or how she will feel if this whole thing with Moriarty turns nasty again. Jesus Sherlock, please try, for me."

"I do try John," Sherlock came back, looking a little hurt. "I've been trying my best for the past few months haven't I?"

"Yes, you have."

"And what makes you think that I'll suddenly start acting even more cold and uncaring- especially towards Lucy?" The consulting detective queried.

"I don't know." John admitted, "I can just feel that you were becoming a little bit emotionally unattached to us both today." John's voice was soft. "And I don't want this case to take over you and make you forget that she is a human being with feelings. I don't want you to distance yourself."

"I won't and I'm not." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "The only time I'll ever distance myself is if I think it would be better if I did, and right now I need to focus on the point of Moriarty's actions today and I really do not need distractions."

"There you go again." John sighed.

"Don't bother John. I need to focus. The trial is tomorrow and I need to think." Sherlock looked at his flatmate pointedly before laying on the couch, in his thinking pose as he thought through everything.

Sherlock had to distance himself slightly. He couldn't be distracted. Moriarty did this for a reason, he got himself caught for a reason, and it wasn't the time to be weighed down by feelings. He felt bad for John and Lucy but didn't let this show. If he was to help them in any way, he would have to solve this case and work it out quickly. And if it meant having to be distant from his friends and their feelings for a while then he was willing to do that if it meant he could help them in the long run.


	34. Chapter 34

Chapter 34

The sunlight streamed in through the curtains, hitting the sleeping girl in the face, causing her to wake from her light slumber. She squinted and moaned as she rolled over to sit up and stretched. Lucy winced, feeling the fresh cuts reopen again from being stretched too much. Small beads of blood bubbled up underneath her sleeves, a cruel reminder of what she wished she could forget. It was early, but nonetheless, the teenager slowly got to her feet and had a shower. She relished the hot needles of water as her brain started to function for the day ahead. Lucy got changed into black skinny jeans, a black t-shirt with a long sleeved blue checked top over it. She pulled on her knee high black converses before sitting on the bed, staring into space. It was the day of the trial. But Lucy was doubtful as to how well it would go. All of the evidence was there, bold and clear as day. But this was James Moriarty they were talking about. If he was able to steal the crown jewels, break into the bank of England and organise a prison break at Pentonville then surely he- of all people- would be able to get his way out of trouble in a trial. But she remained optimistic despite her worries.

Suddenly, the door burst open without even a warning knock. Sherlock came marching in but stopped in his tracks as he saw the startled girl look back at him.

"Good, you're awake." He muttered.

"Thanks for knocking."

"Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit." Sherlock Holmes smirked as she rolled her eyes.

"You look smart." She commented. The consulting detective was dressed in a black striped shirt and a dark suit, clearly ready to testify in court. Sherlock raised his eyebrows and nodded in acknowledgement.

"How are you?" He asked swiftly.

"Fine." Lucy replied as quickly as he had asked the question. Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "Yes, alright, I know you know I cut last night but it's hardly surprising."

"Well I didn't expect miracles," he muttered just as John Watson strode in.

"Wow, you're not looking too bad either Doctor Watson." Lucy complimented. John chuckled; he too was dressed smartly in a shirt, suit and tie.

"Thanks, I can scrub up well on occasion." He smiled, but turned serious. "There's a lot of press outside again."

"Oh ignore them; they're stupid and not our priority right now." Sherlock growled as all three of them got up and walked into the living room. "Besides, a police car is picking us up, no doubt one of the officers will tell them to back off."

"Are you hungry?" John asked Lucy.

"No."

"Thirsty?"

"No." John sighed. Lucy looked at him and said: "I really don't feel like eating to be honest. If I want anything I'm sure I can get something at Scotland Yard." He nodded but still didn't seem completely satisfied. Sirens sounded outside, signalling their time to depart 221B Baker Street. Sherlock straightened his jacket, glancing at his two flatmates before following them both down the stairs.

They paused outside the door, preparing themselves for the small gathering outside.

"Ready?" John asked them both. With a look at each other, both Sherlock and Lucy replied:

"Yes."

John Watson took a breath before opening the front door to their home. As soon as John, Sherlock and Lucy stepped out, cameras were flashing in their faces and questions were being shouted. A police officer was controlling the press from getting in their way as they hurried towards the police car parked by the curb. Lucy kept her eyes front, avoiding the flash of the camera and trying not to get bashed into by the bothersome people. The police car set off swiftly towards Scotland Yard- afterwards it would take John and Sherlock to the Old Bailey. They were all silent on their way. Lucy tapped out an irregular rhythm on her leg with her right hand; she bit her lip as she glanced at the detective sat next to her.

"We aren't sure how long the trial will last." John informed her as she turned her head. "But we will call Lestrade when we're ready to pick you up." Lucy nodded, John frowned and asked: "Are you going to be okay."

"Yes."

"Look, Lucy, I understand it's really tough at the moment but once this trial is over with it will be okay." John murmured, Lucy huffed out a laugh. "What?"

"Well, knowing Moriarty he will find his way out of this. What's to say that he won't start up a whole new game again?" She glanced at both John and Sherlock- the detective had now turned his head slightly towards them in interest. "This may just be the beginning of the game, we all know it. It's stupid to do all that stuff for nothing and allow yourself to be caught- even a madman such as him wouldn't do it just for the banter." She looked at them both before leaning back against the seat. The two men next to her didn't say anything- John because he didn't know what to say and Sherlock because he knew that she was probably right. The car pulled up outside Scotland Yard and Sherlock opened the door and got out so that Lucy could get out.

"See you John."

"See you later Lucy." John smiled.

"I'll see you later Sherlock." Lucy struggled to look him in the eye.

"You need to have more confidence in me." Sherlock muttered.

"You have so much confidence in yourself Sherlock," Lucy told him, "But I have an awful feeling about this."

"How am I supposed to solve this if you don't trust me?"

"It's not about me trusting you." Lucy muttered, "It's about you and Moriarty. Like you said, I'm not really involved anymore."

"It could still affect you."

"And I expect you got that line from John am I correct?" Lucy snapped, Sherlock narrowed his eyes, but Lucy knew John would have told him that. "Even if I am affected it doesn't matter. This is Moriarty we are talking about, we can't underestimate him. I don't know what you're going to do this time but I bloody hope you have some kind of plan." She sighed, "I'll see you later." She looked at him before walking off into Scotland Yard, not even bothering to wait for a reply.

"I do have a plan." Sherlock murmured to himself as he watched her leave before getting back into the car.

Lucy ran a hand through her hair, frustrated as she entered the big building. By now she knew where Lestrade's office was and a lot of the police officers knew her so they all smiled and said hi as she walked by. Lucy passed by Donovan and Anderson, where they appeared to be sorting out some reports. They looked up.

"Lucy, wait!" Sally Donovan said loudly. The teenager stopped in her tracks- half smiling to herself in mild annoyance- but turned around as the officer walked up to her. "Look, I know we haven't spoken since the... incident, but I want you to know that I really am sorry. I know my apology is really, really late but I do mean it. I wasn't thinking and I'm sorry, it was more than out of line."

"Don't worry about it," Lucy smiled slightly, "It's forgotten about." Donovan smiled at her and she smiled back. The teenager took her leave and walked off towards Lestrade's office, finding him watching her interaction with Donovan as he was stood outside his office door with a smirk on his face.

"That was very kind of you," he grinned.

"It was very mature of her to apologise so I thought I'd return the favour." She said, causing the DI to laugh.

"It's good to see you," he said, bringing her in for a hug. Lucy smiled as they went into his office.

"You too."

"Want a drink or anything?"

"No thanks," she declined. He looked at her concerned.

"You haven't had anything to eat or drink today have you?"

"It's only early, and you can hardly blame me." Lucy sighed.

"I understand." He smiled. "How are you doing though?"

"Honestly? Not that good." Lucy sighed. "It's just hit me hard. Moriarty's returned so soon and it just scares me. You saw what happened last time, I was almost driven to suicide and almost killed and I had to fake my death just to survive. If he's back, while he may not care about me actually being alive, he's still after Sherlock. He's always been after Sherlock so this time it could be so much worse."

"It may not be as bad as last time," Greg said.

"Well, even if the chase isn't bad, the final catch must be. Lives may get put in danger once again knowing him. Sherlock may be in great danger; it's hard to know at this moment."

"What are the chances of him walking free though?" Greg queried as he started to fill out some paperwork. "All of the evidence is there, it's obvious."

"It's Moriarty." Lucy said as if that offered all the explanation needed, and it did.

"I suppose we'll just have to wait and see," the DI murmured.

"Do you trust him?"

"What?" He looked up at her.

"Do you trust Sherlock?"

"Of course I trust him, he's a great man." Lucy nodded at his reply but said no more on the matter.

Time passed by slowly. But it was filled with plenty of conversation about things in general and about their favourite episodes and characters of Doctor Who. They had lunch together- Lucy ate all of her sandwich much to Greg's surprise- and had fun. He took her for a tour around Scotland Yard, although there wasn't a great deal to see, she had some fun looking at the cold cases that Sherlock often solved when he was bored.

It was late afternoon when John and Sherlock picked her up from Scotland Yard.

"How did it go?" Both Lestrade and Lucy asked as soon as they came into sight.

"It went as well as it could. Most of the people there were idiots though." Sherlock seemed rather annoyed for some reason but he continued anyway: "I couldn't say a great deal on the matter. I told them we had had several encounters with Moriarty- at the swimming pool and at a later date which I didn't want to talk about as there were journalists there."

"So you couldn't say how dangerous he was in your case with Lucy?" Greg asked.

"Not without giving the case away. If I did, the press would catch on and I don't want Lucy having that sort of pressure put on her."

"Oh, but," John piped up with a look of humour and annoyance, "He got kicked out for being a smart-arse and showing off."

"Of course he did," Lucy laughed, unsurprised at her flatmate's antics.

The drive home consisted of John filling both of them in on what happened with most of the trial- which wasn't a lot. And it was odd the way the trial was going.

"Bank of England, Tower of London, Pentonville," John said the names of the places as they entered the living room of their flat, "Three of the most secure places in the country and Moriarty breaks into them, no-one knows how or why." John sighed as both he and Lucy sat down, "All we know is..."

"He ended up in custody." Sherlock finished, his hands steepled as he looked at John. The doctor looked at him and took a deep breath.

"Don't do that." John said slowly.

"Do what?"

"The look."

"The look?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

"You're doing the look again," John sighed.

"Well I can't see it can I?" Sherlock muttered. John gestured to the mirror. Sherlock turned his head, staring at his reflection before concluding: "It's my face."

"Yes, and it's doing a thing, you're doing a –we both know what's really going on face." John looked exasperated.

"But we do." Sherlock frowned.

"No. I don't," John told him, "Which is why I find 'The Face' so annoying." Lucy was on the brink of laughter, she knew what was really going on, and obviously Sherlock had been thinking the same.

"If Moriarty wanted the jewels he'd have them, if he wanted those prisoners free they'd be out on the streets, the only reason he's in a prison cell right now is because he chose to be there." Sherlock glanced at Lucy, "Somehow this is part of his scheme." Lucy looked at the consulting detective, feeling glad that she wasn't the only one who felt like that.

"Well I'll be going back tomorrow, Sherlock you can stay and look after Lucy considering you are banned from the rest of the trial." John said. "Hopefully we'll get the verdict tomorrow."

"Hmm," Sherlock hummed in response as he went off to work on some kind of experiment. Lucy sighed heavily, looking at John who smiled sadly at her.

"How was today?" He asked her.

"It was nice with Greg," Lucy said quietly. "I'm going to my room for a bit."

"Okay."

Lucy got up and walked off, feeling the familiar urge to cut come back. She wanted to get better, which was the worst thing. It was too hard to recover. It was as though the world was against her. She wanted to get better but things just came along that made her want to cut again and again. She made five cuts on her left forearm, but they weren't deep. She just stared at her already scarred and cut up skin and started crying. The shallow cuts stung, but she regretted even making them. Running her fingers along each scar on her body, she felt the tears keep falling, unable to keep them in. She hated her arms and legs. She hated everything. All she could do was cry as she waited for night to fall and the day to be finally over.


	35. Chapter 35

Chapter 35 (Halfway to chapter 70!)

A tense feeling seemed to hang in the air at 221B Baker Street the following day. John had gone off early to witness the rest of Moriarty's trial and would ring them as soon as they had the verdict. But Sherlock already knew what it would be. The consulting detective knew that this was definitely only the beginning, and he knew it would end badly one way or the other- and yet, he wasn't worried. The only thing he was truly concerned about was Lucy. With sharp, keen eyes he glanced up over his experiment in the kitchen and looked at where the teenager sat, watching an episode of some type of crime series on the TV.

He could see her depression was slowly beginning to be lifted. Of course, he had read up on these things and had done extensive research just to be sure. Sherlock knew it was something that would be hard to get rid of, and even then you never are fully rid of it- it will always be lurking, waiting to pounce. But for now, she seemed happier in herself. And the difference was obvious over the months. She hadn't spoken much about her time with Lisa, but he knew that the counselling was going well. Lucy had taken a lot of the advice on board and had greatly reduced her self harm. She still cut, quite a lot sometimes, but it was better than it was. Sherlock sighed. He wasn't sure however how long it would last. And to think, he may be the cause of a massive relapse wasn't the best feeling in the world.

And this is where his reasoning stemmed from.

Out of everyone, Lucy wouldn't cope as well as the others- obviously. So if anything happened to Sherlock, then it would hit her hard and she could very well relapse badly. This is why Sherlock wanted to distance himself. Sherlock thought back to the conversation he had had with Mycroft not that long ago...

"Do you have any idea of the damage you could inflict on her?" Mycroft warned his brother as he folded his arms.

"I think it would lessen the overall damage if anything." Sherlock muttered defiantly.

"Do explain, dear brother."

"She'll be the worst affected if anything were to happen to me." Sherlock started, "And we're already quite... close... so being any closer to me will make the impact even worse. If I distance myself from her, and we aren't as close, then if anything were to happen, it wouldn't hurt her as much as if we were as close as we are now."

"It's a stupid idea." Mycroft frowned, "You'll just hurt her in the process."

"Sometimes, risks and sacrifices must be made to create the best possible outcome."

"Sherlock..."

"No Mycroft... there's no other way." Sherlock interrupted, dead set on his idea. "I don't want to hurt her either way but... this is the only way."

"And what about John?"

"He'll be able to cope better than Lucy." Sherlock sighed, "But I expect you to be keeping a very close eye on both of them."

"Of course." Mycroft stood up about to walk away, but he quickly turned around, "Oh and Sherlock... please be careful."

Sherlock glanced back up at Lucy, knowing how nasty things could turn in the space of a year. He'd disengaged himself socially and suppressed all kinds of emotional attachment for many years until John had come along; Sherlock reasoned that he was only human, but for now, he'd have to be careful. The consulting detective took out the Petri dish from under the microscope and placed it back in the breadbin. The silence was heavy and thick, not that Sherlock minded, but he could see how restless the young girl was becoming. He observed her as she scratched absentmindedly at her arms, and he felt a twinge of guilt- but he quickly suppressed it.

"How are you doing?" Sherlock asked her as he sat down in his favourite chair, bored that he had nothing to do.

"Fine."

"Define, fine."

"I'm doing okay." She rephrased her answer.

"Let me see your arms." Sherlock ordered softly. Lucy shot him a surprise glance, he rarely- if ever- requested to see her arms, so she was confused as to why he would want to now.

"Why?" She asked cautiously.

"Just let me see," his tone was authoritative and impatient but still gentle so- with a heavy sigh- Lucy complied.

With a slow deliberate movement, she carefully rolled up both of her sleeves until just past the elbow. Sherlock took her arms in his hands and turned them, observing the abused skin. Almost all of the news ones were shallow, there was only a couple that were a little deep- but they looked a lot better than before. There were still many healing, and a lot of them would probably leave a scar, but Sherlock was generally pleased with the progress. The detective frowned; the skin and cuts were very red and sore looking.

"You haven't been looking after yourself very well," he commented in a deep murmur.

"I don't need your opinion." She snapped. She seemed to be a lot more irritable lately. Sherlock looked up at her with sharp eyes.

"You do if you want to not have an infection. You need to look after yourself and your skin whether you want to or not." He matched her annoyed tone. "At least put some antiseptic on it. Do you not realise that they're on their way to infection? Red and sore. Time you learnt that."

"What's with you today?" She looked shocked.

"I could ask the same." There was a silence.

"Yeah I know I'm being difficult, I'm sorry. It's just hitting me hard with this whole Moriarty thing- that's all." Lucy admitted, looking a little ashamed of herself. Sherlock hummed once in acknowledgement. The detective sprang up and stalked off into his bedroom- before quickly returning.

"Here." He muttered, chucking a tube of antiseptic cream at her, "Use that. You can keep it in your room."

An hour or so later, Sherlock was lying on the sofa and Lucy was watching a DVD. The consulting detective was muttering to himself, when his mobile ringtone cut through the otherwise quiet of the flat. Lucy immediately paused the DVD and her eyes swiftly fixed on her flatmate. Sherlock sat up and answered his mobile, putting it on loudspeaker.

"Not guilty." Lucy heard John say on the other end and that's all she needed to hear.

With adrenaline coursing through her and her heart beating faster than she liked, the troubled teenager immediately stood up and left the flat without another word.

"You do know he'll be after you Sherlock," John told him. "How's Lucy?"

"You were on loudspeaker," Sherlock Holmes informed him, "And she ran off after hearing 'not guilty.'" He stood up and walked to the kitchen, "Quite frankly I'm not surprised."

"You need to go after her Sherlock!" John told him in a panic.

"No I don't. She can take care of herself. Besides, she probably needs to be alone." Sherlock shrugged to himself.

"Sherlock!" John said in shock.

"Look if you're that bothered, then I would suggest that you go and find her, I have something to do."

"You know what? I will. She may need someone right now." John sighed, "Please Sherlock, you need to think about her a little more than you are at the moment."

Sherlock hung up and flicked the switch on the kettle. He was, after all, expecting a visitor.

Lucy just kept walking, too shocked to care or cry anymore. Eventually, she ended up in a park she didn't really recognise, but she didn't care. Not guilty. The verdict was, not guilty. A part of her had expected it. Despite the fact that the evidence was all there, he could find a way to set himself free with ease. The park was busy but she found a quiet spot by a tree to sit down under, running a hand through her hair and exhaling a breath she had been holding in. This meant that Moriarty was back on the streets. And that was never a good thing. Lucy felt tired, she felt so very exhausted. It was like her muscles just didn't want to work anymore and her brain no longer wanted to function. Her skin itched that oh so familiar itch. A craving, for the silver blades that lay waiting for her to return. An urge, so powerful it had her addicted. But she couldn't even be bothered to cut herself.

No doubt John would be looking for her at some point, so she decided to just start walking again through the bustling streets of London. She didn't want to be with John or anyone, she wanted to be alone. Left alone to her intrusive thoughts- but it was so much easier than facing anyone...

"I never liked riddles." Sherlock said to his nemesis as he stood up and fixed his jacket buttons.

"Learn to," James Moriarty told him in a low voice, "Because I owe you a fall Sherlock. I, owe, you." He left the red apple he'd been playing with on the table. They looked each other in the eye. "Oh, before I forget... how's our dear Lucy?"

"None of your business."

"Clever one- that girl. I enjoyed playing with her."

"And you'll leave her alone now." Sherlock glared at him. Moriarty just smirked.

"Give her my best." The consulting criminal looked at him with a dangerous expression before taking his leave with another smirk. Sherlock watched him leave, a sinking feeling in his stomach. He picked up the apple. IOU.

Shortly after, John decided to call Sherlock again.

"Has Lucy returned?" The ex army doctor asked, trying not to let the concern in his voice show.

"No."

"I've tried calling her, she won't answer."

"Well that would explain what that ringing was, coming from her bedroom," Sherlock muttered, mostly to himself.

"She's left her phone behind?" John practically yelled.

"Calm down, I'm sure she'll be back soon."

But it was almost eight at night and she still hadn't returned. John had come back after the phone call and it was obvious how worried he was. Sherlock tried to tell him that Lucy would come back when she was ready- but John was having none of it.

"She must be in a state Sherlock!" John said, frustrated, "She probably doesn't even know where she is, and she probably doesn't even care. She could get herself badly hurt. And it's getting really dark now. I'm calling Lestrade and Mycroft?" Sherlock just watched as John dialled up the number for his brother.

"Mycroft? Yeah it's me, John." There was a pause. "Lucy's missing. I suppose you know the verdict of the trial, but needless to say, she ran off. Your little brother thought it would be fine and that we should give her space- but she's been gone for several hours, it's getting dark and I'm worried." There was another pause. "Okay, thanks." John hung up.

"Well?" Sherlock queried.

"He hasn't had any surveillance on her- but he's sent a car out to look for her. I think he's actually gone with them." John shook his head and rang Lestrade's number.

"Greg, it's me." John said, "Look, Lucy's gone missing." The good doctor proceeded to explain what had happened in an increasingly worried tone of voice. But regardless, Lestrade had gone out to look for her as well. "Come on Sherlock, let's go." John ordered.

"Why?"

"We need to find her you idiot! We can't sit around doing nothing." John shouted.

It was dark. The hour was approaching midnight and Lucy stayed sitting on the park bench. The teenager had taken to walking until her feet ached and then sitting down to rest before walking again. She had absolutely no idea where she was- and she didn't really want to know where she was. Her mind was a jumbled place. She didn't want to return home. Because she was scared that as soon as she got through that door, she would grab her blades and rip open every last inch of skin until she bled to death. And she didn't want that. She'd realised a few hours ago that she had left her phone at home, and that John would be worried- and maybe Sherlock would be- but she didn't care. Lucy knew she was selfish and horrible for not caring, but she couldn't summon the energy or will to care about much anymore.

It was past midnight when she saw the sleek black car across the road from the park. She ducked down behind the bushes and waiting, watching. Eventually the car moved on. That meant that Mycroft was out looking for her. She was surprised she hadn't seen a car until now, but she'd have to be careful. Selfish, stupid, selfish idiot. She hated herself. But it was the worst thing in the world- wanting to reassure John and Sherlock but not wanting to go back because she didn't want to throw all of the hard work to reduce her self harm down the drain. Lucy started walking again. By now the streets were extremely quiet- and so were the parks, and the troubled teenager was so glad of the calm, quiet.

She felt dizzy. She felt exhausted. It was one in the morning and it was pitch black apart from the streetlights illuminating the world around her. Her head swam and spots appeared in front of her eyes. She hadn't eaten or drank much in a while. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She reached the park that Sherlock had taken her to the other day. And it was then that she realised how far she had walked. Lucy entered the park. It was deserted. She sat down on the bench in the field and blinked a few times while clawing at her arms, desperate for some kind of release from the pain.

It was half one in the morning. She wasn't even aware of the time anymore. She felt tired, but too tired to sleep. Everything was too much. She was overreacting. It was only a verdict. Not guilty. But it just confirmed that things would be worse several months down the line. Her parents hated her. She had no family. That cut into her more than the blade ever would. All it would take is just a bottle of pills and a bottle of alcohol, or a deep cut across the neck. So intrusive... the thoughts were excruciating.

Tick tock, tick tock.

Tick tock, tick tock.

Tick tock, tick tock.

Were those footsteps?

Was that a flashlight?

Tick tock, tick tock.

She wanted to cry, but no tears would come.

Tick tock, tick tock.

Those were definitely footsteps.

No!

She didn't want them to take her back.

Maybe she was being a little too hysterical.

"She's over there!" A voice in the distance called, with a huge tone of pure relief.

With panicked eyes, Lucy looked up.

Lestrade and Sherlock were striding towards her, trying to appear non-threatening. Greg was frantically talking to John and Mycroft on the phone. Apparently they weren't far away.

They were approaching her.

No.

Lucy stood up, fighting against the white stars that swam in her vision. She began to back away. Sherlock and Lestrade held up their hands, worry and confusion in their eyes.

"Lucy, please, it's all okay," Sherlock told her calmly.

"Lucy, it's all fine, you don't have to run. We just want to help," Lestrade said gently.

The teenager couldn't cope. She felt completely numb and she didn't completely know why. It scared her. She wanted to cut so badly. To feel the sharpness as it ripped through her skin and feel the release of pain as the blood bubbled to the surface. But they kept talking and taking tentative steps. She couldn't hear what they said. Her head hurt.

She turned and ran.

"Lucy! Wait!" Sherlock yelled. But she was fast, even when so exhausted.

The troubled girl had run into a forest. Trees swamped the way as there were barely any traces of a clear path to walk on. The two men followed in pursuit. Worried as to what was going on. John and Mycroft had eventually arrived at the park and quickly walked to where they saw Sherlock and Lestrade run in pursuit of the teenager. Mycroft looked at John, both eyes showed their concern. They sped up their pace.

Lucy kept running. She no longer remembered why she was running, but she could hear the footfalls behind her and she was too scared to stop and wait to be caught. She looped around, heading back towards the entrance of the forest- but startled at the sight of Mycroft and John.

"Lucy!" John exclaimed in relief.

"No." Was all Lucy could say as she backed off away from them. The footfalls sounded louder until Sherlock and Greg came to a sudden stop, their eyes flicking from the other two to Lucy.

"Lucy, please, we just want to help." Sherlock held his hands up again, concerned at how she was acting. She wasn't herself- they all knew this.

"No," She shook her head, fighting the fog that clouded her vision as she kept backing off into the open field. Out of the forest they all followed her. To Lucy, they looked intimidating. And she was scared. "Don't, please stop."

"Lucy, everything is going to be alright," John said calmly. "Just trust us."

"No..."

"What's going on?" Greg asked.

"I don't know," Mycroft murmured, looking confused and feeling awkward being there.

Lucy stumbled backwards and struggled to regain her balance.

"Lucy, you're not well," John murmured, his doctor instincts kicking in. "Let us get you home. You need food and water."

Lucy's mind was screaming. Everything ached. The stars burst in front of her eyes and everything was becoming foggy again. She felt her knees buckle and Sherlock and Greg rushed forwards to catch her. Taking a step away, she felt the blackness overwhelm her as she fainted. Sherlock Holmes huffed out a sigh.

"This isn't the first time this has happened." He muttered, "Remember she ran off and collapsed months ago during that particular case?"

"I wonder why this has happened again." Greg ran a hand through his silver hair.

"She must have been walking almost all day," Sherlock observed, "She hasn't had much to eat or drink in a while, it's no surprise she fainted from exhaustion. I know Moriarty's verdict has probably scared and messed her up, but I don't know why she got like this." He lifted her sleeves up a little bit. "She's scratched her arms badly. She was obviously fighting the urge and probably felt suicidal. Maybe she was scared to return..."

"In case she relapsed badly?" Mycroft finished.

"Exactly." Sherlock muttered.

"I'll take you and John back," Greg said as Sherlock lifted the unconscious girl up.

"Thanks Greg," John smiled. "But Sherlock, you need to be careful in future. You should have gone after her."

"Let's not play the blame game." The detective said bluntly as they carried her back to the car.


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter 36

Sherlock had left John to look after Lucy. The good doctor woke her briefly to get her to drink some water, but she seemed a little disorientated when she woke, so John thought it was best to leave her to sleep- although he made sure to check on her every so often. It had been very awkward for the detective when they had gotten back, Mycroft had insisted on inviting himself in and making sure that Greg stayed as well- both of which were much to the annoyance of Sherlock Holmes. The consulting detective glared at his older brother as John returned from looking after the troubled teenager

"Here John," Lestrade smiled at the man as he passed around the hot cups of tea he had made for them all.

"Cheers," John managed a smile as he let out a worn out sigh. There was a silence, and it hung heavy in the air. Mycroft leaned forward as he decided to break the silence:

"You may not want to hear it Sherlock, but you are supposed to be looking after that young life in there," he gestured gracefully in the direction of the teenager's bedroom. "I don't see how letting her wander the streets when you knew she'd be in a state is classed as looking after someone."

"She had nothing to hurt herself with, and she needed the privacy, Mycroft." Sherlock fought to control his angry tone of voice.

"And look how that went down. She was near hysterical." The elder Holmes stated.

"She will be fine." The detective snapped.

"Christ, Sherlock, do you even care about her? What has happened?" John asked.

"Nothing has happened, I just don't see why this is all my fault."

"You know, if you couldn't look after her you should have called one of us to come round and get her." Lestrade said quietly, "I've said before that I'm more than happy to look after her."

"I don't see why we're making a big fuss out of this." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"It's pointless trying to reason with you," John muttered.

"There's nothing to reason about. She wasn't in any immediate danger. If she was, then I assure you that I'll have helped her in any way that I can." Sherlock reasoned. Mycroft observed his younger brother for a moment before nodding in understanding. It was obvious that John still wasn't exactly happy, but knowing that Sherlock would help if she was in great danger was a little reassuring.

"So how is she doing?" Greg Lestrade asked as he sipped his tea.

"She's actually doing quite well." John informed them, "Sherlock keeps an eye on how her self harm is going..."

"I checked today," Sherlock interrupted, "While she does still cut, it's nowhere near as bad as before. I think that counselling rubbish may be starting to help."

"And she seems happier in general." John finished. "I don't know what happened today though."

"Past emotions being sorely resurfaced due to the high threat of danger that none other than James Moriarty has brought in the form of a rigged jury and a verdict of not guilty. It most likely shocked and scared her considering how he has affected her in the past, and the uncertainty of what may happen this time isn't the nicest thought." Sherlock deduced in response to John's statement.

"Just remember to be careful Sherlock." Mycroft told him as he finished his cup of tea. Grabbing his trademark umbrella, the elder Holmes brother rose from his seat, bid everyone goodnight and showed himself out of the flat. Sherlock sighed, knowing that this could be a potentially dangerous game and he was already concerned about the possible outcomes.

Lucy awoke late the next day, feeling tired and sore all over. She felt so stupid. As she sat up, she groaned at herself, regretting all of the events and how she had acted. In fairness, she struggled to remember why she ran from them and why she ended up walking herself to exhaustion. It wasn't clear to her but she remembered the original cause. Moriarty. Her arms itched again. She was too tired to fight it. With slightly shaking hands, she retrieved her shiny blade and went into the bathroom. Pressing the blade to her skin, she breathed a sigh of relief, swiftly dragging the metal across, she felt the familiar sensation of calm as the blood bubbled to the surface and dribbled down her scarred skin. Lucy repeated the motion several times, again and again until she lost count. Maybe she was overreacting again. And already she was feeling the twinge of regret. She dropped the blade, cleaning up her arms with some tissues and water. As she assessed the damaged, she was a little shocked to see how deep some of them were. Hoping she didn't need stitches, she felt her arms shake slightly and she choked out a sob. Lucy didn't want to do this anymore, she desperately wanted to stop cutting up her skin, and she wanted to be rid of the urge to mutilate her own body to feel better. For a while she held tissues to the fresh cuts, willing the blood to stop flowing.

A sharp knock on the door startled her.

"Lucy?" Sherlock's voice called, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." She replied, trying to keep her voice from shaking. "I'll be out in a minute." Guessing that Sherlock had moved back into the living room, Lucy went back into her bedroom and got changed, although she could still feel a bit of blood seeping out of one of the cuts. With a heavy sigh, she walked steadily to where John and Sherlock were sitting in the living room.

"Lucy, thank God, how are you doing?" John asked as soon as she came into the room.

"Feel a little tired and sore all over, but other than that I'm fine." She replied quietly. Sherlock observed her for a second before asking:

"How bad?"

"Huh?" Lucy looked confused.

"How bad?" He repeated, nodding his head towards her arm.

"Not bad." She muttered. John looked between them, realising what they were talking about with a sad smile.

"You need stitches don't you?" The detective queried, although it seemed more like a statement. The teenager said nothing, causing John to move over to her. She offered her arm, not bothering to argue. John rolled up the sleeve and sigh softly.

"I think we'll be okay with just butterfly stitches on a couple of them," he mused while taking a good look. John Watson retrieved his medical kit before proceeding to put the butterfly stitches on the worst cuts.

"What happened last night?" Sherlock asked.

"I honestly don't remember," Lucy answered. "I can't remember why I ran away or why I walked for forever. I don't remember why. I just know I couldn't cope with hearing Moriarty's verdict." Sherlock listened and nodded, knowing she was telling the truth.

"Lucy, next time," Sherlock started, leaning forwards to look her in the eye while John finished stitching her up, "Please, talk to one of us. I know I wasn't the most helpful person yesterday, but you could have seriously hurt yourself. Even if you run off again, if you were to go to Lestrade's or even to see Mycroft- then that would be better for everyone. Or you could just ask me or John and we'll take you to theirs. Just talk to us okay?"

"Okay, thanks," Lucy smiled at them. "And I'm sorry."

But after that one time, things seemed to be improving again. Lucy was determined to stop cutting and the counselling sessions were helping her to reduce it greatly over the following two months. She found herself surprised that they hadn't yet heard from Moriarty, but she hadn't let her guard down (and neither had Sherlock.) But for now, all three of them were happy. John was going to work regularly again to pay the bills, and he would often convince Sherlock to accept the cash rewards he received from his cases so they bought Lucy a laptop for some of her studies. In fact, the teenager spent a fair amount of her time reading over her text books and making notes, getting ready for the exams that were in several months time.

And yet, she knew it wouldn't last. Her cutting wasn't deep, she was eating reasonably well. But she couldn't shake off that feeling that something bad would happen. Sherlock had still been a little distant, although he did his best to look after her- whereas John was as mothering as ever. Something was off with Sherlock. And she was scared to find out what it was that was making him distant.


	37. Chapter 37

Chapter 37

Things had been better. John was over the moon to say the least- even he could see the small differences to how Lucy was. The counselling had started to really make a difference, and the fact that she had the slight distraction of studying was also helping. Despite the fact that she hadn't been to school in ages, her studying was going really well and everyone had high hopes for her exams that were coming up in a few months time. The pressure sometimes got to her, but she was coping much better than if she had to go into school each day.

John had gone out to do some shopping, leaving Sherlock and Lucy at home with little to do. There had been neither sight nor sound from Moriarty, leaving Lucy terrified at what he was cooking up. It was never a good thing when someone, who had done something as big as break into the three securest places in the country, suddenly disappears off the radar. Sherlock didn't seem too bothered about it- which concerned the young girl. She wondered why she was the only one who had seemed truly worried, but she wrote it off as everyone was acting like it didn't matter to not worry her further.

"Sherlock," Lucy said the consulting detective's name as she watched him analyse some Petri dish in the kitchen.

"I'm busy." He muttered his reply. There was a pause.

"Sherlock." The teenager said more forcefully. With a sigh and an annoyed expression, the dark haired man looked up at her.

"What?" He grumbled. Lucy looked a little taken aback at his tone but nonetheless decided to say:

"Do you think Moriarty will come back?" Her voice was a little timid, and Sherlock softened his expression.

"You really need to stop worrying about him you know; it's not doing you any favours." His voice was deep and soothing. "Whether or not he comes back, we've dealt with him once before we can deal with him again."

"But what if something bad happens again?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

"Then we will work through it no matter what happens okay? You really need to stop worrying. It's time you learned to trust me fully." He half smiled at her.

It was another week later when something happened- two months on from Moriarty's trial and Sherlock was still as distant as ever. There had been barely any cases that truly interested Sherlock, so he was becoming more irritable and moody and John and Lucy had to escape to the cinema for the day when he was in an 'I will shoot this bloody wall' mood. But it was the day that John had been out that Lestrade had called Sherlock with a new case and, needless to say, Lestrade and Donovan came over immediately with Sherlock finally looking a little happier than usual.

"Greg!" Lucy yelled excitedly as she saw him reach the top of the stairs. The teenager ran over to him and threw her arms around him in a tight hug- one which he warmly returned.

"How are you Lucy?" He asked with a grin.

"I'm actually really good thanks, you?"

"I'm good too, been a bit busy at work though."

"Enough pleasantries," Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Let's see what you've got for me."

"Always the social butterfly," Donovan muttered as they moved into the living room to look at the case files.

Max and Claudette Bruhl aged seven and nine respectively- the children of Rufus Bruhl, the ambassador to the US who had requested Sherlock Holmes specifically- had gone missing from the St Aldates private –very posh- boarding school in Surrey. After reviewing the files and coming up with some possible conclusions, they ended up preparing to set out to the school.

John Watson had returned at that point, confused at what was going on.

"There's been a kidnapping," Sherlock told him as he grabbed his scarf.

"Rufus Bruhl, ambassador to the US, he requested Sherlock specifically," Lestrade added with a smile at the detective.

"Our Reichenbach hero," Sally said, slightly sarcastically, as Sherlock put on his coat. The detective didn't bother replying to her as they exited the flat and got into Lestrade's car.

It wasn't an awfully long journey to Surrey, but it was long enough for Sherlock to start complaining about the lack of decent officers on the police force. As a way to shut him up and stop him from being too offensive, Lucy asked:

"You said earlier that it was a kidnapping- how do you know for sure it was a kidnapping. Wouldn't someone have noticed?"

"It was the end of school term; lots of parents walking in and out, strangers everywhere. It's easy for another unknown man to get into the school. Max and Claudette were staying over the holiday, and the teachers make sure that they are in their rooms at night. It was in the morning that they were gone. It's more likely to be a kidnapping considering how easy it is to kidnap children at that time of year."

Lucy nodded thoughtfully, but she didn't like this case one bit. It just felt all wrong again. The first proper case since Moriarty's trial was a kidnapping of two children whose father was a very important man. This had the consulting criminal mastermind written all over it. And if she was right in her suspicion, then it was only a matter of time before things really starting kicking off again. Glancing over to Sherlock, she saw how laid back, relaxed and unconcerned he was. Maybe that was a good thing- if he wasn't worried then she shouldn't be worried. Even John didn't seem bothered by it. Lucy sighed and scratched at her arms. Another catastrophic run in with Jim wasn't what she needed right now. Focusing on her breathing, she looked at the big brick school as the car pulled up on the gravel driveway. Lestrade looked back at her and gave her a reassuring smile before all of them got out of the car ready to start investigating.


	38. Chapter 38

Chapter 38

Sherlock knew he was brilliant- there was no doubt about that. He never questioned his intelligence, but ever since he found John he ended up questioning himself as a human being. Truth be told, he honestly didn't care whether or not people liked him, and he didn't care if his actions often strayed from the social norm; what bothered him was whether he fit in with the people he so often thought of as family. Even as a child the word friend was foreign, it was something to turn your nose up at. And yet, he had gotten to know John he had considered him more than a flat-mate, he had considered him a great friend. But what made him question everything the most was Lucy. A young girl. A mere teenager whose intelligence could give half of Scotland Yard a run for their money- not that that was hard. She was unusual. For a man who rarely kept the company of teenagers, Sherlock always found himself surprised at how much he liked her. Frequently he underestimated her and her ability to survive. Her will to carry on and determination for success was certainly amusing to watch. When John had initially proposed the idea that Lucy would be staying for a while Sherlock Holmes had been more than a little uncertain and apprehensive. He had wondered whether she would mess things up, whether she would accept him. While acceptance wasn't terribly important to Sherlock, he felt the need to be accepted and at least tolerated by those he lived with. To live with someone with so many problems didn't sound easy- but then again, Sherlock never did or liked easy. She was a puzzle, a challenge. And often Sherlock would wonder what kept her going most days. Despite her suicidal thoughts, Lucy had often shown him so much determination for life and her inability to cope in a particularly safe way highlighted the fact that she was a great person. For someone so young to go through so much and still show a sign of improvement was a great thing- and certainly one Sherlock would never underestimate.

He liked her.

And he was one hundred per cent sure of that fact.

Much to his amazement, Sherlock found that Lucy reminded him a lot of himself. When he looked at her he saw a very bright young girl who struggled to cope. And he often knew exactly what she was going through. Admittedly he never showed it enough, but he understood.

Seeing her and knowing that just a few hours ago she had put a blade to her skin hurt him. It cut him just like it cut her. He remembered the feel of the cool blade beneath fragile fingertips, and he remembered relishing the sharp sting as it pierced through layers of skin to reveal the bright scarlet liquid that bubbled to the surface. Even the thought of it made his arms itch. But he wouldn't relapse. He promised himself, he promised Lestrade and he promised John. (Screw his promise to Mycroft!) Of course he didn't stop for other people- he didn't even know John when he stopped cutting- but instead, he tried to do it for himself. He hated the scars that tainted his once unmarked body, and looking at them now brought back a surge of regret. He never regretted cutting- he knew that much- it was now a part of him and he had learnt to accept that. But the thin white lines and almost faded scars served as a reminder to his previous pain. That was what he hated; the reminder of the pain. Luckily, for Sherlock, he never let it get as bad as Lucy's had. He'd done plenty of research on self harm- obviously- and he knew that he had to stop early on. He was addicted for several months- he remembered telling Lucy that- and despite his few relapses, he managed to stop. With Lucy, she had been doing it for a much longer time. Her cuts were deeper- less careful than his precise ones in which he was under control of the depth. A few times he had cut just a little too deep but he never did it on purpose. And the fact that Lucy did it on purpose hurt him too.

He wanted her to get better. He knew it was possible- he was living proof of that. But Lucy couldn't cope without it- she had nothing to fall back on. And Sherlock wanted to help her more than he was already doing.

Many a discussion had been had with John about Lucy.

"I'm worried." John said with a soft sigh, not even needing to explain his words.

"You always worry."

"And you don't?"

"I care, if that's what you mean," Sherlock met John's gaze, "But I know what she's going through- one day, and that may be a long time away- she will get better. I know it."

"What if she doesn't make it until then?" The ex army doctor's voice wasn't much more than a whisper. Sherlock had hesitated, taken aback at the amount of concern.

"We will be here to make sure she will make it. Have a little faith in her John. She's doing brilliantly, and we can help her." Sherlock had smiled, trying to be reassuring. He knew it was a tough topic.

But now, he was scared himself. Hell, he was worried. With the way that Moriarty was going to play, Sherlock wasn't sure how well he could stick to what they said. He wanted to always be able to help her and look after her... but what if he couldn't be there to help her? Sherlock ran a hand through his dark hair. He could have done so much more to help Lucy.

So maybe it was better to distance himself. As much as he hated it and how it could hurt Lucy, he knew it had to be done. So that it would be less of a blow if things went as he predicted.

But he saw Lucy continue to hurt. He saw how she wanted to be able to talk to him but he was just being indifferent and slightly rude- saying how he was busy doing an experiment. He knew that wouldn't help her... but he didn't know what else to do. Sherlock couldn't ask for help from John or Lestrade- otherwise they'd know something was up. He was just relying that John would be able to help her on his own.

While she was out at one of her counselling sessions, Sherlock had gone into her room and looked at the notebook on the desk. With a grimace he remembered the note she had left when she had gone to the rooftop to meet Moriarty... it wasn't the nicest memory he had. He remembered the shock in John's eyes and he remembered the feeling of adrenaline course through his body. But everything had turned out okay so he was grateful for small mercies. The latest entry in the notebook was what appeared to be a diary entry. He knew it wasn't the social convention to read another's diary but he couldn't help himself. With keen eyes he scanned the few small words on the page. All it said was:

Sherlock's different... something has changed and I'm scared as to what may happen. I know its Moriarty. I just wish he'd leave Sherlock alone.

Sherlock sighed as he closed her notebook again. And he turned swiftly as the creak of a floorboard alerted him to the presence of someone. Moving out of Lucy's bedroom, he was surprised to find Mrs Hudson in the living room.

"Mrs Hudson," he said as a greeting.

"Oh hello dear, I brought up some cakes for you, John and Lucy." She set the tray down, "I hope you all like rock cakes..."

"I'm sure they'll be consumed."

"How is she?" His landlady asked with concern.

"I think she's doing a little bit better." Sherlock told her- making Mrs Hudson smile in relief a little.

"I'll be nice to see her completely happy." She said thoughtfully, "It's nice that she has Detective Lestrade as well, although I'm surprised they're so close."

"Well, Lestrade is an easy person to talk to and like," Sherlock muttered, "She needs someone other than me and John."

"She needs people her own age."

"Do you really think that would be good for her?" Sherlock mumbled softly, "She hasn't been to school in months and Lucy said she doesn't get on well with people her own age."

"Shame really." Mrs Hudson sighed.

"Well before you ask she is doing well with her studying."

"Oh that's good. She's a bright girl... maybe one day she could give you a run for your money."

"I think that's enough chit chat for one day," Sherlock quickly said, but he had a good natured smile on his face. Mrs Hudson patted his back before taking her leave.

And it was several weeks later when things had started taking another interesting turn. Kidnapped children. Brilliant! No doubt it was only the beginning of things. Sherlock glanced at Lucy as they arrived at St Aldates boarding school. He saw the longing in her eyes to be able to have had a bit more of a normal life- but underneath he knew she wouldn't change it for the world now. His eyes wandered down to her arms and he couldn't help but wonder how everything would turn out. But as he stepped out of the car to talk to Lestrade he felt both a shred of nervousness and a shred of excitement. The game was on.


	39. Chapter 39

Chapter 39

Sherlock walked ahead slightly with Lestrade towards a middle aged woman crying into a tissue with some kind of shock blanket over her shoulders. The consulting detective looked at her with observant eyes, but Greg started muttering to Sherlock before he had a chance to go over there.

"That's Miss Mackenzie, the house mistress..." Lestrade paused, "Go easy." He added with a warning look before leaving Sherlock to it. The detective smirked to himself, but outside he kept a neutral composure. As he came to stand in front of her he said:

"Miss Mackenzie you're in charge of pupil welfare yet you left this place wide open last night- what are you, an idiot, a drunk or a criminal now quickly! Tell me!" His voice had started to get louder with each word as he grabbed the blanket and whipped it off of the woman's shoulders.

"All of the doors and windows were properly bolted," the lady said, "No-one – not even me – went into their room last night. You have to believe me!" The poor mistress's voice became suddenly desperate.

"I do," Sherlock Holmes looked at her kindly, "I just wanted you to speak quickly." Standing up the detective said to the officers around the building: "Miss Mackenzie will need to breathe into a bag now."

Lucy shook her head in disbelief at her friend and flatmate. John, who stood beside her, didn't look very pleased with the detective's behaviour. Greg and Sally strode up to them and the DI gave Lucy a look that made her giggle slightly.

"Charming man isn't he?" Greg murmured to her- causing Lucy to stifle another giggle.

"He is an absolute prat," John mumbled.

The five of them all made their way into the huge school building. Through a couple of corridors they walked until they reached the young girl's –Claudette's- room. Sherlock opened the door with a keen eye.

"Six grand a term you'd expect them to keep the kids safe here," John commented as the consulting detective started to have a look around. Lucy just stood by the door, only catching drifts of what the others were saying.

"They were the only two sleeping on this floor... no sign of a break in..."

There was a thud as Sherlock dropped the lacrosse racket on the floor- causing Lucy to jump and glare at her friend in annoyance- he just raised an eyebrow and continued searching the room. Opening up a chest, he took out a brown envelope that had a red wax seal on it. With tentative fingers, he touched the envelope before taking out the book inside- Grimm's fairy tales. Lucy smiled to herself, she remembered reading a few of Grimm's fairy tales as a kid- mainly Hansel and Gretel and Little Red Riding Hood. Those two stories were her absolute favourites, mainly because she always liked the idea of an edible house and because Lucy's favourite animal was wolves. To see the thick book of the fairy tales in Sherlock's hand brought back memories of her father reading the stories to her- he always did the best character voices- but her mum was always the best at doing the voices of the princesses like Cinderella. Lucy felt her heart drop a little at the reminder of what she once had, and she wondered... was her whole childhood a lie? Did they even want to read her stories? She sighed slightly.

"Hey, are you okay?" John asked her as he touched her arm gently.

"I'm fine," Lucy attempted a smile. Not wanting to push her, John Watson nodded and left it at that.

Sherlock bounded ahead to Max's room with Greg, Sally, John and Lucy in tow. Lucy stopped and gazed out of the window along the corridor. Lestrade let the others go ahead into the room as he came up beside Lucy.

"Go ahead, I'll be there in a minute." The teenager murmured. She squeezed her left hand in an attempt to keep a couple of tears at bay.

"Come on now, what's happened?" Greg asked softly as he put his arm across her shoulders.

"I don't know really." She shrugged, "It's just me, I seem to be crying at the drop of a hat as of late."

"It's understandable; it's nothing to be ashamed of."

"It is though Greg." Lucy leaned into him slightly, "I just want to get better. But I have all of these reminders around me every single day; it feels like this depression won't ever leave and it's weighing me down." She paused, "There's nothing anyone can do really."

"I know what it's like to have depression hang over you, a lot of people do. And while there are reminders around you, it just takes a lot of time for you to become stronger. The reminders won't ever go away, but as a person you grow stronger than the reminders and you learn to live with them without feeling this way." Lestrade murmured.

"You really think it will get better?" The teenager looked up at him.

"It has to get better." He smiled.

"Thank you," she murmured. "You get back to Sherlock- or he'll be upset you're missing his brilliance. I'll be through in a moment."

"Okay," The DI squeezed her shoulder before smiling at her and walking into the room.

From outside, Lucy could hear Sherlock start to deduce and analyse the situation the little boy must have been in.

"This little boy, this particular little boy- who reads all of those spy books..." There was a pause, "What would he do?"

Lucy took a deep breath, not wanting to miss anymore of the action walked into the room in time to see Sherlock sniffing the air around him.

"He's like a dog." She commented, earning a smile from everyone apart from Sherlock- who was currently sniffing a cricket bat. They all watched the detective as he found a bottle and held it up. Sherlock looked at the bottle for a second before saying loudly:

"Get Anderson."

Now Anderson was the last person on earth who Lucy thought Sherlock would ask for- but apparently, the imbecile had some uses. In little time at all the whole room and the corridor outside had been sealed off from light, and special UV lights were put in place. Sherlock held in his right hand a UV light baton that shone a strange, eerie blue colour. Lucy found herself feeling quite amazed as words on the wall became suddenly visible in the light.

Help us...

"Linseed oil," Sherlock told them.

"Not much use," Anderson said. "It doesn't lead us to the kidnapper."

"Brilliant Anderson." Sherlock muttered.

"Really?"

"Yes, brilliant impression of an idiot." Lucy had to let a small snicker escape her- which made Sherlock also smirk. The consulting detective pointed to the ground, "The floor."

"He made a trail for us." John observed.

Sherlock walked in the direction of the footprints as he continued speaking- guessing what happened to the children. It wasn't nice whatever the two kids had to endure and go through.

"That's the end of it," Anderson informed them as the footprints faded into nothing, "We don't know where they went from here... tells us nothing after all." He looked pointedly at Sherlock, trying to outsmart the detective.

"You're right Anderson, nothing." Sherlock took a breath as he continued in triumph: "Except his shoe size, his height, his gait, his walking pace." He let out a small chuckle and smiled as he bent down to take samples of the footprints. John started to tell him off- apparently it wasn't the best idea to smile when there's kidnapped children involved on a case.

Lucy tried to tune out the rest of the time at the school, they didn't stay for much longer but already she was getting more and more memories that she'd rather forget. Already it seemed that this case was going to kill her, and already she didn't like it one bit. She was vaguely aware of Lestrade looking at her with a concerned expression as they left the school grounds- but she just closed her eyes and waiting for them to get back to London.

St Bart's Hospital was where Sherlock ordered the taxi to go. And if they caught Molly on time then they would be getting her help in analysing the footprint samples to try and find where the kidnapper had been and where he was going to take the kids. On the way up, they stopped at the canteen.

"What do you two want to eat?" Sherlock asked as he picked up two bags of quavers. Lucy looked at the food and ended up choosing some prawn cocktail flavoured crisps- whereas John opted for ready salted. After paying for their crisps, Sherlock shoved the quavers in his pockets as they went up to the labs upstairs. Sherlock paused for a second, watching Molly Hooper approach, after she'd gotten close enough to the door, the detective opened it and said:

"Molly!"

"Hello, I'm just going out..." She looked a little surprised.

"No you're not," Sherlock told her as he turned her around, keeping his arm on her back to guide her back.

"I've got a lunch date." She protested.

"Cancel it, you're having lunch with me," Sherlock let go of her back to whip out the two packs of quavers before putting them back again.

"What?" Molly looked confused.

"Need your help- it's one of your boyfriends, we're trying to track him down, he's been a bit naughty!"

"It's Moriarty?" John queried frowning as Sherlock grabbed the handle of the door.

"Of course it's Moriarty," Sherlock muttered, leaving both John and Lucy looking very shocked and surprised. Suddenly, Molly spoke up- causing the three of them to look at her.

"Err, Jim actually wasn't my boyfriend, we went out three times... I ended it."

"Yes and then he stole the crown jewels, broke into the bank of England and organised a prison break at Pentonville- for the sake of law and order I suggest you avoid all future attempts at a relationship Molly." Sherlock showed her a bag of quavers again pointedly with a smile on his face as he opened the door- leaving her standing there in shock.

Once they'd all entered the lab Lucy exclaimed:

"She went out with Moriarty?" Turning to Molly, she said again: "You went out with Moriarty?"

"Yes..." Molly said.

"And you ended it?" Lucy asked.

"I did." Molly looked quite proud of herself.

"That's very brave, how are you still alive?" Lucy looked at the woman with amusement.

"Well, Jim was nice but... he gave Sherlock his mobile number." That caused Lucy and John to burst out laughing.

"Well thank goodness you aren't still going out with him now," Lucy shook her head.

"I'm not surprised it's Moriarty again," John said as he took a seat by one of the long desks.

"Neither am I," Lucy mumbled, "I said it was him from the very beginning."

"Who else would it be?" Sherlock said with a small smirk on his face. But he knew that this was only the beginning of it all, and with Jim Moriarty, it could only go downhill from there...

Lucy looked at Sherlock's vacant expression and found the anxiety building up in her again. The detective didn't seem worried about the case but once again it all came down to what happened last time. Even as Sherlock requested for Molly to get the needed equipment for his experiments, Lucy saw the tightness in the detective's eyes. The vibration of her phone made the teenager jump slightly.

Are you doing any better? –Greg

Lucy smiled at the text and sent one back:

I think I'll be okay for now thanks. It's just turning out to be a long day. We're getting the footprint analysed now with Molly.

Lucy sighed, she caught Sherlock's eye and he gave her a look that asked 'is everything alright?' She nodded back at him. She had to be alright if she was to get through this.


	40. Chapter 40

Chapter 40

There were several clicks as another slide fell into place underneath the microscope. Two small drops could be heard before a pH tester stick was placed in the solution- alkaline. Lucy watched with fascination as Sherlock and Molly- apparently chemistry geniuses- set to work. They started to conduct multiple tests to determine what residue was left on the footprint to further discover all possible areas that the kidnapper had most recently been. His footprint was like a passport, showing all the places where he had been. John- bless him- really didn't know what to do with himself, he obviously knew a lot about science because he was a doctor, but he wasn't entirely clued up as to what they were testing for. Mainly because Sherlock was muttering to himself and Molly only, leaving John and Lucy feeling left out. But if it meant that they could work faster then that was what mattered. Instead, John and Lucy were reading some of the chemistry type books that were lying around. But after a few minutes, the young girl just became restless. She needed to move about, or do something.

"I'm going for a walk." She muttered to John.

"You okay?" He looked at her as she stood up with a small amount of concern detectible in his face.

"Yeah I'm fine," She didn't want to worry him, "I just could do with a walk around. I won't be long."

John nodded and gave her a smile. Lucy glanced over to the consulting detective- who was inspecting a test tube- before running a hand through her hair and exiting the building. By now, she knew where most corridors led to- but she was looking for one in particular. A few turns and she found a door leading to a staircase. With a breath she opened the door and ascended the stairs at a steady pace. Lucy reached another door that she opened. Light instantly poured onto her and bathed her in the midday sun, she squinted and breathed in the fresh air. With careful footsteps she made her way to the middle of the rooftop of St Bart's hospital. Sitting down on the ground, her mind flashed back to a mere few months ago when she remembered herself in the same position. It sickened her how she did this to herself. Return to a place that brought back bad memories was a stupid idea- but it grounded her, made her feel less numb. And as she sighed she realised just how messed up things had gotten. Everything had become so much more complex since she moved in with Sherlock and John- her flatmates... her friends... her family. The only family she could say she had. At least this was one family that she could choose.

With a heavy heart she rubbed her left arm- the arm that was most scarred. The teenager smiled down sadly at it. Not only was her body ruined, but so was her education. But she was lucky that she could get a second chance at her education- which is why she had been working so hard for the past few months. Lucy wouldn't get a second chance with her body, her skin. What was etched into her fragile body was going to be there for a while- some maybe all of her life. It was a part of her. Not that she was going to let her scars hold her back. When she was better, she decided that she would wear long sleeves without fear of mocking. But that's when she got better... if she ever got better.

"It's nice to see you again." A familiar voice said from a few feet behind her. With a gasp, Lucy stood up and whirled around. The man stood in a non threatening manner, his eyes observing her with some form of messed up respect.

The Irish man smiled- in almost a way that made it look like he was mocking her- but maybe she was too suspicious of him. The teenager observed him. He was dressed oddly. She'd never seen him without a suit. And yet, here he stood, with blue jeans, a dark checked shirt and a grey t-shirt underneath as well as some kind of converse. Feeling already confused, Lucy copied his smile. She held her posture high and steady- also non threatening but on guard nonetheless.

"I would say likewise but given the circumstances, James Moriarty, I'm not sure how nice it truly is." Lucy raised her eyebrows as he smirked.

"I knew you were better than I expected." He said.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, that it was a very clever trick you did back in that warehouse." He walked forwards closer to her, "You could have actually killed yourself with that blank gun, I admire you mad side."

"You would know about madness." She quipped.

"Obviously."

"Why are you here?"

"You know, I never wanted to hurt you." Jim suddenly stopped in front of her to look at her with some kind of... sadness in his eye. Lucy furrowed her eyebrows, confused.

"Don't take me as a fool." She shook her head.

"It's true!" He suddenly sounded desperate, "I never wanted to hurt you. Never. Why on earth would I? I didn't even know you."

"Where are you going with this?" Lucy took a breath, feeling incredibly confused and uncertain about everything.

"Look, he made me do it." Jim told her, "He made me go after you, he told me to make sure you were dead. He told me to mess you up beyond repair. He wanted this. He paid me to do it. I was out of work. It was the only thing I could do. When I found out that you were alive... I was so relieved." Moriarty ran a hand through his hair looking thoroughly distraught. "He's making me do this. He's paying me. You can't let him know that you know. I wanted to warn you. He's a fraud."

"Wait," Lucy was suddenly questioning everything that had happened within that past few months. Was everything a lie? But why should she trust him? "Who is 'he'?"

"Sherlock." Jim looked at her with apologetic eyes. "I'm being honest, I am. I'm an actor. He paid me to do everything. He's a fake. Just... think about it please." He shook his head, "I have to go, I can't risk him seeing me." Jim turned to walk away.

"Hey, stop," Lucy ran to move in front of him. "I have no reason to believe you. Sherlock wouldn't fake everything. He's my friend. He wouldn't do something like this."

"Your own parents changed didn't they? They didn't act that hatred towards you. You'd be surprised. You think you know someone... but they can be completely different people underneath the surface- and not always in a good way." Moriarty looked into her eyes. "I wanted to warn you. He invented me, invented the crimes. My name is Rich Brook. Be cautious of him." He glanced at Lucy one last time before jogging to the exit and taking his leave.

The young girl just stood there, not quite believing what she just heard. It just messed up everything she thought was real. How could she possibly know who to trust? The obvious choice was Sherlock. But Moriarty... Rich... he seemed different to how she'd ever seen him before. And a part of her was inclined to believe everything he just said. She ran a hand across her forehead, feeling a headache coming on. Lucy was so confused. She had to believe Sherlock though. He was her friend... wasn't he?

"Dammit!" She cursed, annoyed at herself for questioning every action over the past few months, every move Sherlock had made was suddenly blurred with uncertainty. But she felt like she could truly trust Sherlock, despite this spanner in the works. Noticing the time, she slowly made her way back to the lab.

Lucy couldn't tell Sherlock or John or anyone what had happened. She just wished she knew the definite truth. Honestly, she didn't want to question Sherlock. She trusted him with all of her being- and that was a fact. But still, she couldn't kill the uncertainty that had made its home in the back of her mind- and she was scared that that uncertainty was going to multiply.

"Have a nice walk?" John queried, bringing Lucy out of her trance.

"Yeah," She said, her voice not belonging to her body as she continued to mull over what Jim... Rich... had said.

"Glycerol molecule... what are you?" Sherlock mumbled to himself.

"Glycerol?" Lucy repeated, Sherlock glanced at her from his work and nodded. "I swear that's like sugar?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her. "Really could do with some chocolate later, thinking about sugar." Lucy commented absentmindedly.

"Oh!" Sherlock's eyes widened. "The glycerol molecule..." A grin spread across his face. "PGPR."

"What?" John frowned.

"It's used in making chocolate." Sherlock Holmes stood up, putting his coat on and texting something on his phone.

"Looks like we're done then," Molly muttered as Sherlock finished sending multiple texts.

"I've texted Lestrade and my homeless network. I told Lestrade that we're coming over now and I've asked my homeless network to get me information on warehouses in the area." He began to walk out of the door.

"Looks like we're going." John grumbled as he stood up and followed the consulting detective.

Lucy watched them walk out of the building, she smiled at Molly before following her flatmates. Did Sherlock really not know what the glycerol molecule was? Or was he just biding his time for the perfect moment to find out what it is? The young girl bit her lip, hating herself for thinking such thoughts.

She just hoped- for once- that Moriarty was lying.


	41. Chapter 41

Chapter 41

On their way to Scotland Yard, Sherlock briefly explained how he came to know what the glycerol molecule was. Every fairytale needs a good old fashioned villain. Moriarty was playing another game, taking clever little bits from Grimm's fairytales to form a spectacular crime. The witch's house in Hansel and Gretel is just one of those stories, the house- made of sweets and chocolate- made the two children want to go in as they loved the sweets. So Sherlock knew that the glycerol molecule PGPR is used in making chocolate- so it all fit in with the story.

How sickening.

Lucy sat in the middle of the black cab, feeling uncomfortable and suddenly awkward. She felt both Sherlock and John's eyes on her, but she refused to look into their eyes. Everything she'd known over the past several months was falling down around her, crashing to the ground, and she hated the fact that she was questioning the person who accepted her and wanted to help her.

"Are you alright?" John murmured to her.

"I'm fine," Lucy replied in a voice that wasn't her own. Dammit! Why did Moriarty have to mess with her head, using her insecurities to ruin everything. You can't kill an idea though, not once it's made a nice home right in the centre of your brain. Once they got out of the cab, Sherlock looked like he was about to say something to her, but he just furrowed his eyebrows and strode ahead into the police station, with his flatmates hot on his heels.

Greg Lestrade was there to greet them when they got in, his face tired looking and serious. Together, they all started walking to the main room where the police officers were working.

"A fax arrived an hour ago," Lestrade said as he handed the paper to Sherlock. From over the detective's shoulder, John and Lucy could read the words: 'HURRY UP THEY'RE DYING!'

"What have you got for us?" Greg asked the consulting detective.

"We need to find a place in the city where all five of these things intersect," Sherlock muttered, handing the DI a list.

"Chalk, asphalt, brick dust, vegetation and what is this? Chocolate?" Lestrade read the list out aloud.

"I think we're looking for a disused sweet factory," Sherlock interrupted quickly.

"We need to narrow that down... a sweet factory with asphalt?"

"No, no, no," Sherlock muttered, clearly in his element in the midst of a case, "Too general, we need something more specific. Chalk, chalky clay- that's a far more thinner bound of geology."

"Brick dust..." The DI said.

"Building site... bricks from the 1950s." Sherlock murmured, seemingly in his mind palace.

"There's thousands of building sites in London," Greg sighed, running his hands over his face in despair.

"I've got people out looking," Sherlock said as though it was blatantly obvious.

"So have I," Greg seemed a little indignant.

"Homeless network, faster than the police. More relaxed about taking bribes," He smirked as Anderson rolled his eyes. Suddenly, Sherlock Holmes' mobile phone started ringing with dozens of texts. He held the device up to prove a point before checking what he had been sent. Lucy watched him in amazement, she knew deep down that it took a genius to be able to think of all the things he had done already- how could he just make it up?

"John," Sherlock suddenly said, holding up his phone to the ex army doctor, "Rhododendron ponticon, it matches." Referring to the vegetation they found- that now meant that they were able to eliminate a lot of the disused factories. There was a short pause.

"Addlestone."

"What?" Lestrade looked up at him.

"There's a mile of disused factories between the river and the park, it matches everything," The detective spoke quickly as he started to walk away.

"Come on," Lestrade said to the other officers, they all looked at him, "Come on!"

With sirens blaring out loudly, they raced to the disused factories in a record time. Lucy felt her heart beating in her chest, the adrenaline coursing through her with the knowledge that they needed to find the children as soon as possible. Sherlock was on the edge of his seat, and as all of the police cars pulled up outside the building, simultaneously everyone immediately bolted out of the cars to dash into the disused sweet factory. They burst the blue doors open, and got out flashlights to illuminate the dark interior. Donovan barked out orders to officers quickly, telling people to spread out and to look over different places. Lucy followed Sherlock and John, shining her torch around but seeing no-one in sight. Sherlock suddenly darted down, further into the room to a candle on the floor surrounded by colourful sweet wrappers. He bent down to touch the candle.

"It was alight moments ago," he said in a deep voice. Speaking loud enough for the other cops to hear, he said: "They're still here." Lowering his tone again he started talking- almost to himself- "Sweet wrappers... what's he been feeding you?" Standing up, he held in his slender hand a single wrapper. "Hansel and Gretel." Bringing the plastic to his face, he sniffed it tentatively before licking it. He recoiled with a disgusted look. "Mercury!"

"What?" DI Lestrade walked over to him.

"The papers, they're painted with mercury- lethal." He explained, "In all of the stuff they ate."

"He was killing them."

"It's not enough to kill them on their own." He said, "Taking in large enough quantities eventually it would kill them- he didn't need to be there for the execution... Murder by remote control, he could be a thousand miles away. The hungrier they got the more they ate... the faster they died. Neat." A small smile played at his lips in fascination.

"Sherlock." John warned in a hushed tone. Lucy stared in surprise at the detective. She knew he enjoyed his cases, but saying the killing the children that way was 'neat' was a step too far. Unfortunately though it didn't appear as though Sherlock realised how he sounded sometimes.

"Over here!" Came the sudden call from Sally Donovan. Obviously everyone sprinted over to where the officer called from, stopping in their tracks a good distance away from where a young girl sat on the ground next to a young boy who was lying seemingly unconscious.

Lucy watched as they carried the children out of the disused sweet factory. They were taking the young boy to hospital, and the girl would be checked over. To say it was shocking was to say the least. And as the sun started to set on their way back to Scotland Yard, Lucy had to wonder if Sherlock was truly capable of doing such things to these children. If Rich Brook was who he said he was, then that meant that Sherlock created this whole case up. He wasn't capable of it- the troubled teenager tried to convince herself. Or was he?

John had left to go get some food by the time darkness had fallen. Sherlock was left with Lucy in the police station as Lestrade and Donovan started to question the young girl- Claudette.

"You seem pensive. Are you okay?" Sherlock said to the teenager as he came to sit beside her. Lucy immediately felt herself tense up, but forced her body to relax- she felt ashamed.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine." She replied, "I'm just mulling over how awful it was for the children."

"But they're safe now." The detective said.

"Who did this?" Lucy asked him.

"Moriarty, isn't it obvious? I thought I already said this." Sherlock frowned. Lucy just hummed in reply.

"What if it isn't Moriarty?" She suddenly queried with a whisper.

"Why would you say that?"

"Um," Lucy was caught off guard. "I don't know." She shrugged, grateful that John had chosen that moment to return. He sat beside her and handed her a sandwich. He didn't bother get one for Sherlock, the detective quickly refused, settling instead for a cup of coffee. As the dark haired man paced up and down, John turned to Lucy.

"So how have you been?" He asked, taking a bite of his sandwich.

"Not bad," she replied, eating her own dinner.

"You know, you can tell me if something is wrong." He murmured.

"I know," Lucy smiled at him, "I really am okay." John looked at her for a moment before nodding, knowing better than to press her for answers.

After what seemed like an eternity, Donovan and Lestrade came out of the interview room.

"Right, the professionals are finished," Sally said with a smirk, "If the amateurs go in and have their turn."

"Now remember she's in shock and she's seven years old," Lestrade stopped Sherlock pointedly, "Anything you can do to..."

"Not be myself." Sherlock finished for him.

"Yeah, might be helpful," Greg smiled as Sherlock put his coat collar down. Lucy stayed sitting as Sherlock entered the room with John behind him. There was a long pause.

Suddenly a scream emitted from the interview room. Lucy looked up in shock as it continued.

"Get out!" Greg yelled at Sherlock, pulling him out of the room. Lucy frowned.

"The girl screamed at him." John murmured to her with a worried expression.

"Why?" Lucy asked. He shrugged.

Lucy looked at Sherlock as he stood, looking outside the window in quiet. Her thoughts kept overcrowding her mind. Something was wrong with it all. Why would the girl just scream like that?

"Something about Sherlock reminds her of the kidnapper." Greg's voice suddenly cut through her thoughts and she stared up at him with wide eyes.

What if she screamed because Sherlock was the kidnapper? Lucy ran a hand over her face. She must be over thinking this. Unconsciously, she scratched at her arms, feeling a few of her fresher cuts start to bleed again and she sighed in relief at the slight numbing rush of endorphins it gave her.

"Well don't let it get to you I always feel like screaming when you walk into a room," Lestrade said to the detective with humour, "Actually so do most people." Lucy couldn't help but stifle a small laugh.

As John went outside, Greg pulled Lucy into his office.

"How are you doing?" He asked her calmly.

"I swear everyone is asking me that today," Lucy sighed.

"You don't seem okay." He murmured gently. "And there are blood stains on your arm."

"What?" Lucy looked down, panicked. She had dark clothing on, but faintly, you could see a small discolour patch. "Dammit." She grumbled. "It's nothing I must have scratched it."

"You were scratching at your arm back there." He said softly. "What's going on?"

"Nothing really is going on," Lucy told him, "Just the usual."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

"Alright." He looked at her sceptically. "But you know where I am if you ever need me."

"Yeah, thanks," She smiled. There was a pause before she wrapped her arms around him in a hug. Lestrade was rather surprised, but he quickly wrapped his own arms around her slim figure. He knew something was wrong, but much like John he didn't want to push her into saying anything.

Lucy let go and gave him a smile before joining her flatmates outside. She couldn't shake the thoughts out of her head though. What if Sherlock was found to have been the kidnapper? What would happen then? Was she in any danger of him? She looked at him, but he was just staring straight ahead.

She knew something bad was going on. Despite what Rich Brook had told her- she couldn't let that cloud her judgement over the detective. Knowing Moriarty... that could just be yet another lie. But as she watched Sherlock get into his own cab, telling both her and John to get their own, she found herself hurt by the fact he was so closed off and distant from everything.

John looked at her again.

"I'm fine," She snapped before he had the chance to ask. He looked taken aback and she just burst into tears.

Why did everything keep going wrong?


	42. Chapter 42

Chapter 42

John Watson glanced down quickly at the teenager sat beside him in the back of the black cab. Giving her a swift assessment, he frowned slightly before deciding to look out of the window again. As soon as she started crying, John immediately wrapped his arms around her- whispering words of comfort as she cried into his chest. But Lucy refused to tell him what was wrong. And, needless to say, John was bloody worried! He could hazard a good guess that whatever it was was to do with Sherlock Holmes; the arrogant arsehole who was far too absorbed in himself and the case right now. John had spoken to the consulting detective in an attempt to stop him from shutting himself off from everyone, but it was to no effect. In all honesty, John didn't care if he was rude to him, but when he was rude to Lucy, John would get annoyed. Despite knowing that Sherlock never meant to be obnoxious, John couldn't help but wish that just for once, he could perhaps behave a little more like a human being with emotions that actually made an appearance.

"You know," John started, causing Lucy to finally look up at him, "If you wanted, we could ask Greg if he could let you stay for a few days until Sherlock is a little more... normal."

"No." Was the quiet reply.

"It might do you some good," he carried on, "I know how difficult Sherlock is being right now, and I know for a fact it isn't helping you in any way. Being away for a bit with Greg- or even Mycroft- might be beneficial..."

"Please just... no," Lucy gave him a pained expression. "Don't send me away." She whispered. Lucy herself, felt scared. Being quite observant herself and quite shrewd about a lot of things, she had an awful feeling that this whole Rich Brook business may just start to make an appearance to Sherlock and John. Maybe Rich Brook- Moriarty- would in fact go to John next and tell him what he told Lucy. She wasn't sure. But either way, the teenager knew that something big was going on. And although she didn't say it, she wanted to spend as much time as possible with Sherlock and John, even if she was being ignored by the ridiculous raven haired man.

"Okay," John sighed, knowing how unsettled she already was. "But if you change your mind, just say."

"John..." Lucy started cautiously, "Do you trust Sherlock?" John Watson looked down at the troubled young girl with his eyebrows furrowed. He lifted up the corners of his mouth in a tired, but honest smile.

"With my life."

Suddenly, the muffled sound of three distinct gunshots rang through the night air. John and Lucy turned to look at each other with wide eyes. As the taxi driver turned round the bend, John yelled at him to stop and chucked a couple of ten pound notes at him.

"Sherlock!" John yelled at the sight of his best friend, standing beside a dead body slumped beside a lamppost. Lucy followed in pursuit as they ran to the detective.

Several minutes later and they were swarmed with police officers and an ambulance, with paramedics lifting the lifeless body onto the stretcher and into the van. Sherlock Holmes was clenching his right hand and clenching and unclenching his fingers in a fast, rhythmic pattern. He seemed a little shook up, but he was hiding it very well.

"That is him. It's him." John mumbled to the detective. "Sulejmani or something. Mycroft showed me his files. A big, Albanian gangster who lives two doors down from us." Lucy stood a little away from Sherlock, closer to where John paced. She shot him a surprised look.

"He died because I shook his hand." Sherlock stated with a grim face.

"What do you mean?" John and Lucy asked simultaneously.

"Saved my life- but he couldn't touch me. Why?" Sherlock was in his element once again. Knowing that this was just another little piece of the big puzzle.

On the short trip back to Baker Street, John briefly filled them in on what Mycroft had told him about the people who had just moved in near their flat. It seemed odd for certain, but were they out to harm them? Lucy thought it was unlikely considering how one saved his life just now, but she wasn't sure.

"Four assassins living right on our doorstep." Sherlock spoke aloud as he ran up the staircase. "They didn't come here to kill me. They have to keep me alive." He sat down. "I've got something that all of them want. But if one of them approaches me..."

"The others kill them before they can get it." John finished for him. There was a pause as Sherlock got up the wifi networks on the computer.

"All of the attention is focused on me," Sherlock mumbled. Lucy huffed a laugh, finding it ironic how much Sherlock seemingly loves attention but gets it from the people he usually fights against. Lucy sighed as he started rambling on about dust.

Mrs Hudson was ever so confused. Dust is eloquent? They all shook their heads at the odd man who was currently climbing the walls to look for breaks in the dust line. A surveillance web. They were being watched. The doorbell rang once, but the detective ignored it. Footsteps climbed the staircase as Sherlock found a small camera behind a thick green book. Detective Inspector Lestrade came through the door, John followed.

"No Inspector." Sherlock said before he even had a chance to announce his presence.

"What?" The DI frowned.

"The answer is no."

"You haven't heard the question," Greg looked confused.

"You want to take me to the station," Sherlock said for him, "Just saving you the trouble of asking." Lucy and John stared at Sherlock with wide eyes, wondering how on earth he knew.

"Sherlock..." Greg started with a heavy sigh, but he was interrupted.

"The scream?" Sherlock faced him.

"Yeah," The DI looked down sadly.

"Who was it? Donovan? I bet it was Donovan." Sherlock muttered with a neutral face. "Am I somehow responsible for the kidnapping? Ah, Moriarty's smart." He took a step closer. "He planted that doubt in her head. That little nagging sensation you got to have to be strong to resist. You can't kill an idea, can you? Not once it's made a home..." Sherlock tapped Greg's head once, "There."

"Will you come?" Lestrade asked. Lucy was feeling scared again, and started to scratch unconsciously at her arm.

"One photograph, that's his next move. Moriarty's game. First the scream, then a photograph of me being taken in for questioning." The young man took a breath. "He wants to destroy me inch by inch." He looked up at Greg, "It is a game, Lestrade, and not one I'm willing to play." He stopped, but with a bitter edge he added: "Give my regards to Sergeant Donovan." Lestrade sighed, glanced once at John and Lucy before turning around and going back down the staircase.

Lucy sat down with a heavy sigh as she watched John walk over to the window, where he saw Lestrade get into the car with Donovan.

"He'll be deciding." Sherlock told him.

"Deciding?"

"Whether to come back with a warrant and arrest me."

"You think?" John looked at him.

"Standard procedure," he muttered knowingly.

"Should have gone with him," Lucy said softly, knowing it looks better to comply than to have a warrant on you.

"Or people will think..." John's voice trailed off.

"I don't care what people think." Sherlock growled.

"You'd care if they thought you were stupid or wrong."

"No, that would just make them stupid or wrong," he countered.

"Sherlock," John suddenly raised his voice, "I don't want the world believing you're..." His voice trailed off as he and Sherlock shared a long look.

"That I'm what?" The consulting detective asked calmly.

"A fraud." John murmured quietly.

"You're worried they're right." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"What?"

"You're worried they're right about me."

"No."

"That's why both of you are so upset, you can't even entertain the possibility that they might be right, you're afraid that you've been taken in as well."

"No, I'm not." John shook his head while Lucy stayed silent.

"Moriarty is playing with both of your minds too," Sherlock slammed his fist down as he raised his voice, "Can't you see what's going on?"

"No I know you're for real." John stuck to what he always believed, and Lucy had to admire him.

"A hundred percent?" Sherlock asked sceptically.

"Nobody could fake being such an annoying dick all the time." John quipped- earning a smile from everyone in the room.

The troubled teenager excused herself to go to her room. A sharp piece of metal lay gleaming behind her, the clock showing her how late it was beginning to get. Rolling up her sleeves, she greedily pressed her trusty blade to her scarred skin, dragging it across and relieving all of the tension, all of the doubt, all of the stress and worry in droplets of bright red blood. She breathed a sigh of relief. She felt like she could breathe properly again. The troubled young girl repeated the action- again and again- each time going deeper and deeper. Honestly, she relished the feeling it gave her. It gave her a small 'high'. It made things bearable again. She could carry on. But she hadn't cut this deep in weeks. Not that she cared at all, she laughed slightly as the blood dripped off of her arm onto the white tissues. She needed this. It was all she needed to cope with life again.

Lucy was brought out of her thoughts at the sound of several police sirens blaring outside; they got closer and closer, eventually coming to a stop. She felt her heart drop.

"Sherlock Holmes I'm arresting you on the suspicion of abduction and kidnapping." Lestrade said as Lucy finally stopped the flow of blood enough to come out of her room- her arms covered. She looked on at the scene in horror.

"This is not all right, it's ridiculous." John told him.

"Get him downstairs, now." Lestrade ordered. Lucy looked at him with tears in her eyes, she could see how Greg didn't truthfully want to do what he was doing, but she knew he had no choice.

"Don't try to interfere or I shall arrest you, too." Lestrade stopped John from complaining.

"How could you do this?" Lucy yelled at Greg. She knew it wasn't his fault but she felt so angry. She turned to Sally Donovan. "You are an absolute idiot! A fucking disgrace. How dare you!"

"Lucy, stop," Lestrade tried to warn her.

"No!" She yelled as she lunged for Donovan. Quickly, Lestrade grabbed her around the waist, restraining her and pulled her back.

"Lucy, please, calm down," He said soothingly.

"No, no, no!" She sobbed.

"What, going to take her away as well?" John snapped.

"Actually John, we need to take her in also," Lestrade said with a regretful wince, "The boss wants us to interview her to see if Sherlock has ever harmed her in any way as well."

"You can't do that!" John yelled, "She has nothing to do with this!"

"Considering Lucy was on the last big case with Sherlock where she almost DIED, and considering she is also young- like the two that were abducted, we have to be thorough to ensure Lucy hasn't been a victim or anything. Although I know she probably isn't." Lestrade tried to reason.

"No!" Lucy yelled, tears streaming down her face.

"Come on," Lestrade pulled her downstairs. He kept a firm grip on her arm, she gasped and he winced before relaxing his grip slightly. "I'm sorry." He murmured once they passed his boss. "I know this isn't fair. It's not my fault."

"How could you do this?" Lucy sniffed.

"Lucy, please, I don't want to do this."

"Why are you taking me?"

"To make sure you're going to be safe and haven't been harmed." Greg said.

"I hate you." Lucy said darkly as he walked her outside. She saw Sherlock who was pressed against one of the police cars. The consulting detective glanced at her with a frown and an unhappy expression at the fact she had been dragged away. Lestrade opened up one of the cars and made sure she got inside.

"We'll be done here soon, stay there." He ordered gently, she could see the sadness in his eyes but she was too angry to care.

A few moments later she couldn't help but laugh as the Chief Superintendant came outside of 221B with a bloody nose! John followed behind and was pushed against the police car next to Sherlock as they were both handcuffed to each other. Lucy felt very proud of John, punching an officer like that, and she shot him a smile. Lucy was only a few metres away from them, so she observed them carefully to see if Sherlock had any plan to escape this. And he did. Sherlock Holmes glanced at Lucy, gave her a nod and then looked down at the police receiver in the car he was leaning against. She immediately knew what he was going to try and do. Lucy readied herself; the door to the car could open as it was unlocked so with her hand on the handle, she waited.

There was a pause.

Suddenly, Sherlock reached in to the receiver in the vehicle, Lucy darted out of the car as soon as a high pitched feedback echoed out from the receiver into the officer's ear pieces. Swiftly, she ran over to Sherlock and John, she saw Sherlock get a gun out of an officer's belt as he bent down in pain to get the loud ear piece out.

"Ladies and gentlemen, will you all please get on your knees?"Sherlock asked loudly to all the officers as he pointed the gun at them. Lucy stood by his side, with John on his left side. She saw Lestrade sighed and glance worriedly at Lucy. No-one moved. The detective reached up and fired two gunshots in warning.

"Now would be good!" He yelled.

"Do as he says!" Lestrade told the officers as he started to get on his knees. The other officers followed suit in shock.

"Just so you're aware, the gun is his idea, I'm just, uh, you know..." John stammered.

"My hostage!" Sherlock finished, pointing the gun to John's head.

"Hostage, yes, that works." John mumbled.

"Leave Lucy alone Sherlock," Donovan yelled at him. "Don't kidnap her as well. Lucy, come here." Donovan pleaded to her. Sherlock suddenly pointed the gun at Lucy's head, she didn't even flinch. Lucy knew she could trust him.

"She's not going anywhere." Sherlock shouted as they all backed away.

"What now?" Lucy muttered.

"Doing what Moriarty wants," Sherlock replied, continuing to point the gun at Lucy and sometimes John. Sherlock and Lucy glanced back at the graffiti on the wall behind them. IOU. "Becoming a fugitive." Sherlock continued as they got close to the corner. There was a pause. "Run." He ordered.

All three of them turned around and bolted away from the flat, turning the corner to get as far away from the police officers as they could. From behind them, they could faintly hear the Chief yell:

"Get after him Lestrade. And get that girl before he harms her."

Lucy narrowed her eyes. Looking at the trust both John and Greg had for Sherlock; she knew she could trust the consulting detective, one hundred percent. Rich Brook was a mystery. But she would always believe in Sherlock Holmes. Side by side all three of them ran, keeping up with each other easily, as they fought to get away from the cops.


	43. Chapter 43

Chapter 43

'I hate you.' Those three words replayed over and over in Greg's mind, with venom dripping from each syllable that seemed to intensify with each repetition. The officer ran a hand down his weary face and internally winced. Out loud- he sighed, heavily, earning him a concerned glanced from Donovan. Not that he cared to look at her. After all, it was her fault this had happened- more so than Anderson. He hadn't wanted this. He had never wanted this. Lestrade knew that Sherlock wouldn't kidnap those children; he liked to think he knew the madman consulting three year old better than that. Admittedly though- and he hated to admit it- even he had felt that niggling doubt in the far corners of his mind, in the dark depths where only the worst thoughts dared to emerge. And to think Sherlock Holmes was capable of what he was accused of was most certainly an awful thought- one that he wished to 'delete' from his mind. And yet, despite that doubt in his head that refused to leave, Greg Lestrade knew for a face- knew in himself- that he believed the consulting detective. Obviously he couldn't let this show too much, being too biased as he was probably wouldn't please the chief superintendant or Donovan. But at least, to himself, he knew that he believed in Sherlock Holmes. After all, someone had to believe in that idiot.

Greg had seen huge displays of courage over his many years... but none more so than the courage shown by Lucy Patterson and John Watson. Both of them, had run headfirst into danger, put themselves in the line of fire all to stand beside a tall, ridiculous man whom many shunned. He had to hand it to them, they had guts. Thinking back to the troubled young girl, Greg felt rather saddened. He had hurt her. He had to do his job- but he hated that it had caused a small rift between him and his friends. Lucy trusted him. And he had compromised that trust. He could only hope that all wasn't lost. He'd have to make it up to her, show her that he was on her side.

"Get after him Lestrade. And get that girl before he harms her." The chief superintendant yelled at him. Greg shot a murderous look in his direction. After all, it was because of the idiots at Scotland Yard that Sherlock, John and Lucy had been forced to go on the run.

"Fucking idiot." Greg mumbled under his breath as he walked past both Donovan and the chief.

"I'll go with you," Sally said as she began to follow him. Lestrade just ignored her as he climbed into the driver's seat of the car, reluctantly waiting for Sally to get in the passenger seat. Greg couldn't even look at her as he started the car up.

"So you're ignoring me now." Donovan said, as more of a statement than a question. "I think what happened just now pretty much proves that I was right."

"Shut up." Lestrade growled in a rare moment of anger. "They were forced to do that. He didn't kidnap Lucy just then, she willingly went to him."

"Regardless, it doesn't work in his favour." She pointed out.

"I know who I believe."

"Let's just focus on finding them and getting Lucy back safe." Sally muttered.

Sherlock, John and Lucy all ran as fast as they could. Luckily, Lucy wasn't hindered by being handcuffed, whereas her two flatmates had to coordinate themselves so that they didn't fall or drag the other along. Suddenly, the sound of police sirens sounded even closer.

"Sherlock," John huffed out, pushing the taller man against a building to hide from a police car driving at the opposite end of the street, "We need to be careful, the cops are on our trail." A couple of sirens sounded closer and closer. John continued: "We can't outrun them!"

"We need to send them off in the wrong direction," The consulting detective mumbled. Suddenly, he turned to Lucy, who stood beside them, "Lucy, I need your help."

"What do you need?" She stood up straight, looking him square in the eye with determination.

"Your fast correct?"

"Very."

"You have a decent stamina?"

"I do."

"Good." Sherlock gave her a smirk, "I need you to run off into the main roads where the police cars are."

"Are you mad?" John interrupted.

"No, but if we are to get away for now we need to trust Lucy," Sherlock glanced at him, "Lucy, make sure you get the attention of the police cars, they'll radio each other your position and all follow you. They'll believe that John and I will be nearby as well. Lead them in the wrong direction. Lead them the other way, back towards the station and in the direction of St Bart's. John and I will go the other way. That will throw them off of our trail. Once they're far away enough, come back to us." Sherlock then gave her a list of roads they may be down. "Use the buildings. Run down alleys. Make it hard for them to catch you. Lucy... don't get caught. Can you do this?"

"I can," she nodded as another siren started blaring closer. She knew that if they were to have a chance to get away far enough from the police- then they'd have to trick the police. "I'll see you guys in a bit." Sherlock nodded at her with a smile.

"Be careful!" John warned her before the teenager started off at a jog down the deserted street onto the main street.

Lucy could see the police cars hadn't moved far, all were moving slowly, and most were still near Baker Street. Looping around, she followed the road to get to the other entrance of Baker Street that was initially blocked off by all of the police cars. Hiding in the shadows, she saw Lestrade and Donovan start up one of the cars. The chief superintendant was busy barking orders to other officers. Taking her opportunity, she ran to the other side of the street, a bit further away from their flat. Lestrade was just starting to move the car out when Lucy stepped into the light of the streetlight for barely more than a second. The car immediately stopped and she started running in the opposite direction. Lestrade got out of the car and yelled to the other officers. Getting away from the place as fast as she could, Lucy ran in the completely opposite direction to where Sherlock and John would be heading- perfect.

"Lucy!" She heard her name being called out but she crossed the slightly busy street to go down an alley way. Finding some metal stairs and a dead end, she climbed the stairs onto the roof of a building. Before leaping down onto the smaller building beside it. For a second she ducked down, seeing the police cars approaching with some officers- like Lestrade and Donovan on foot. Standing up, but keeping crouched, she ran across the flat roof, jumping down onto another building. Someone pointed at her, and hearing the officers approaching, she ran down stairs and jumped over a wooden gate by climbing bins to get to the other side of an alleyway.

"Go around!" She heard Lestrade yell. Lucy had to run to the end of the alleyway, finding herself on an unfamiliar street. Before the police and cars had a chance to get near, she ran along the road, towards a main road that she knew you could take towards Scotland Yard. Sirens were blaring out to the side of her, but regardless- she crossed the road with such swiftness and accuracy she surprised herself. And still, she wasn't out of breath. Slowing down to a jog, she kept on at a steady pace.

"Lucy!" She heard Donovan yell her name. She had to ignore it.

The teenager found herself almost running out onto a very busy road, jam packed with fast moving vehicles of all sizes.

"Shit." She mumbled, glancing behind her and seeing the shapes of officers rapidly approaching- she'd be lucky to outrun the police.

But then again, she had always been a bit of a risk taker.

With a stupidness and recklessness that only Lucy and Sherlock could have managed, she ran out into the busy road, not even thinking about the oncoming traffic. She heard a car screech to a halt just short of her and she let herself smirk in triumph. She heard the terrified sounds of Lestrade as he called out her name in pure worry. Although she felt bad, she had to do this... for herself... for her friends.

Lucy continued running, stopping to let a bus drive past her before running to the pavement before a car had a chance to hit her. Success! Despite the idiocy of the situation she put herself in, she felt an overwhelming wave of satisfaction, and she gasped out a laugh.

For what seemed like ages she ran and ran, just managing to avoid getting caught by climbing buildings and crossing dangerous roads. She'd just climbed a building and was halfway to the other side when Lestrade's voice sounded behind her.

"Lucy, please," he was out of breath, "Stop. It's okay, no-one's going to hurt you." She turned around in shock, she didn't realise how close they were. Donovan and a few other police officers were standing behind him; Greg held his hands up showing surrender. Glancing swiftly down at the road near Greg's side, she saw a swarm of police and police cars.

"Why are there so many cars and people?" Lucy gritted her teeth, feeling vulnerable.

"In case you got hurt and so we can also stop the others." He explained.

"Leave John and Sherlock alone." She spat out.

"Lucy, please, just come with us, its okay." He took a step forward.

"No!" She yelled, taking a step back. "Don't come any closer or I will do something that will make you regret ever doing any of this." Lestrade shot a worried look at his colleagues before taking a step back himself to show his respect of her space. He didn't want her harmed.

"Where are Sherlock and John?" Donovan asked calmly.

"As if I'd tell a pathetic imbecile like you," Lucy hissed, her voice dripping with more venom than she realised she was capable of. Sally looked taken aback.

"They've left you behind haven't they?" She smirked. Lucy hesitated. She could pretend that she was trying to follow them but they'd left her, thinking she'd slow them down... that would work... it would be something Donovan would believe. Going along with it, Lucy looked down sadly at the ground. "I told you," Donovan said to Greg, "They've gone ahead, shows how much the freak cared about Lucy."

"Lucy, what happened?" Greg asked softly.

"I..." She pretended to sniff sadly, "I was trying to follow them. But they heard the sirens and left me behind, they stopped waiting for me." She pointed, "They were heading that way." Her voice was a well acted sorrowful whisper. Of course, she pointed in the wrong direction as planned.

"Bastards." Sally spat out. Lucy winced, but covered it.

"Right, well you're okay now Lucy," Greg murmured, "Come with us, we'll take you back and everything will be okay."

Lucy took a few more steps back, aware she was at the edge of the rooftop. She looked up at the officers.

"I can't." She shook her head before turning and jumping.

"Lucy!" They yelled her name. But the teenager jumped onto a smaller building, before swiftly jumping off of the smaller building onto a huge metallic bin, before jumping to the ground and running again. She heard them call her name; she heard sirens head off in the direction of which she pointed, in a false lead. Lucy ran into alleyways, jumped over boxes and over fences, getting further and further away from the police. By now, she was very out of breath- but she had recovered a lot while talking to Greg and Donovan... luckily. Once she was convinced no-one was following her, and that she was sure she had evaded them finally, she looped around and headed back in the direction of Baker Street.

The teenager jogged most of the way and power walked the rest, a few officers were still stationed outside the flat, but she avoided their sight with overwhelming ease. Eventually, she got back onto the street where she had left Sherlock and John. It had been half an hour- although it felt like much longer- but at least there were no sirens or police cars in sight. She had succeeded. Going back to a jog, Lucy weaved through streets and alleyways for another fifteen minutes before finding Sherlock talking to John by a stack of newspapers. They looked up as she approached.

"I expected you to be longer," Sherlock commented.

"I can run remarkably fast." She panted. "I lead them in the completely opposite direction, all officers and police cars will be heading where I told them to. I laid a story that you guys had heard police cars approaching and ditched me as I was slowing you down. It tugged at their heartstrings." Lucy muttered bitterly.

"Excellent. Well done." Sherlock Holmes gave her a small smile.

"Have any trouble?" John asked.

"A little rooftop showdown with Lestrade, Donovan and some random officers, but I got out of it easily." She brushed it off. But then she glanced down at the newspaper that John was holding.

Rich Brook.

She stared at it with wide eyes.

A Sherlock Holmes exposé.

But... she knew Rick Brook wasn't real.

It was Moriarty wasn't it?

Wasn't it?

"That..." she pointed at it, "Rich Brook... you know him?"

"No," Sherlock muttered darkly, "Apparently he has my life story, he'll make me look like a fraud."

"Rich Brook..." She mumbled, still wide eyed as she bit her lip.

"You recognise the name," Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

"Do you know this Rich Brook fellow?" John asked.

"Nope," she lied weakly, feeling scared.

"Lucy," Sherlock's voice was firm, "How do you know Richard Brook?"

"I... He..." She couldn't get a word out. "He's just someone we may know, I don't think he's real though."

"He isn't real?" John frowned.

"Kitty Riley." Sherlock said. They both recognised the name of the journalist he had encountered at the trial. "She has something to do with this."

"Sherlock wait," Lucy stopped him, "You won't believe who Rich Brook is."

"Then who is he?" Sherlock faced her.

But Lucy wasn't supposed to say.

She couldn't say.

It would sound ridiculous.

"I don't know," She decided to say. Sherlock narrowed his eyes; they all knew she was lying. But upon seeing how scared and vulnerable she looked, they decided to leave it... for now.

But in the meantime, they would go to Kitty Riley's house.

Maybe she would have some answers.


	44. Chapter 44

Chapter 44

Needless to say, a certain dark haired teenager was really not enjoying the glances her flatmates were giving her- despite the fact that they did have the decency to try and hide it. They knew she knew something, but Lucy would rather they found out another way, after all, she didn't even know what to believe and would hate to relay false information. From inside her pocket, her phone vibrated. Checking it swiftly, it turned out to be from Greg Lestrade. It read:

Please Lucy, where are you? I need to know you're alright.

-Greg x

Lucy hated to ignore it, but she had no choice. She couldn't risk giving her whereabouts away, not when it jeopardised the safety of Sherlock. Speaking of which, the detective had since led them up to a door. The house itself appeared to be unoccupied at the present time. But Sherlock didn't care; he found his way into the house in a heartbeat. They made themselves comfortable on the white sofa in the living room.

"Who is Rich Brook?" Sherlock asked aloud. He received no response. With careful eyes, he stared at the teenager. "I know you know."

"I don't want to say." She managed to mutter through gritted teeth.

A certain Kitty Riley turned up not too long afterwards. Her shocked face turned towards the trio as she entered the room. Sherlock was obviously talking to her in quite a rude manner, but Lucy had long since zoned out.

The stings of the cuts from earlier were one of the few things keeping her grounded. And the hunger pains in her starved stomach gave her enough pain to distract herself from picking up something sharp there and then and stabbing herself with it repeatedly. Sometimes her dark thoughts scared her. But she wasn't herself without them.

"Who is your client?" She heard Sherlock half shout half growl.

And it was then, in a ridiculously well timed moment, that none other than James Moriarty himself decided to make an entrance mumbling about tea.

"Rich Brook is James Moriarty..." She heard John say incredulously, after having zoned out again in shock. "You knew this Lucy?" John turned to her and she could barely move. The teenager managed a small nod, and Sherlock glanced at her once in surprise, hurt and anger; though whether he was angry at her she couldn't tell. But, most befuddling of all to Lucy, was how well this man had his story mapped out, and how well rehearsed it seemed to be. She'd heard this all before obviously. And yet, it was still almost enough to make her change her mind and question everything she thought she knew about Sherlock Holmes.

"You have to believe me," He begged, hands together, his hair all scruffy, "Even Lucy knows the truth, she knows! She knows you made me try to hurt her. It's all over now."

"Stop it! Stop it now!" The detective's usually cool and calm exterior had shattered, leaving an angry man in its place. It scared Lucy, he hadn't spoken a word before that moment- something extremely unusual for the detective- and suddenly he shouts. This wasn't like Sherlock at all. There was something wrong...

In a split second however, before anyone had a chance to blink, Moriarty had turned around and bolted from the room- presumably out of the window. Sherlock and John had stormed out after having Kitty growl 'you repel me.' Lucy stopped however and took a good look around the place. The whole room seemed... wrong. It was like it was all staged. Mind you, that would go along very well with this whole actor story. Lucy ignored Kitty Riley, and instead walked over to the candles on one side of the wall. There was one missing. And, if it was to fit with the other candles in her home, it would be the exact same type and colour as the one they found in the abandoned sweet factory. Coincidence? Lucy narrowed her eyes at the journalist.

"Problem?" The ginger haired lady asked rather rudely.

"Yes actually, you're my problem." Lucy responded. The lady looked taken aback at the teenager's tone.

"Well, you're just like Sherlock then. Rude, arrogant..."

"You are a little piece of shit." Lucy said matter of factly, cutting her off midsentence before storming out of her house, slamming the door behind her.

"That felt good." She said to her flatmates as she reached them in the street.

"What did?" John Watson frowned.

"I told her that she was a little piece of shit." Lucy smiled.

"Well done." John congratulated smiling, usually he was opposed to that kind of behaviour, but in this case, he felt very proud of the young girl.

"Sherlock," Lucy started tentatively. "For what it's worth, I don't believe Moriarty. James Moriarty is real."

"Why didn't you tell us who Rich Brook was then?" Sherlock muttered, facing her with cold eyes.

"At the time, I was worried, scared that what he said was true. But I'm not now." She admitted, "Because nothing, absolutely nothing could stop me from believing in you. I know you wouldn't do those things; you don't have it in you to order something to harm anyone or me. You aren't a psychopath. Hell, you aren't even a sociopath! Do you know why? Because you care too much. You may not admit it, but you care about people." Sherlock's eyes warmed and softened at this.

"There's something I need to do. Alone." He said after a pause, he looked sad and defeated. And both Lucy and John had half a mind to go with him in case he did something stupid... but they let him go, alone.

"Where do you think he's going?" Lucy asked in a small voice once Sherlock had gone out of sight.

"I have no idea. There's no telling with that man." John looked down at her. "Come on, let's get something to eat, you haven't eaten all day."

Lucy shot him a glance, but he didn't pay any attention as he practically dragged her to a small cafe quite close to Baker Street.

"Do you think it's safe to be close to home?" Lucy grumbled.

"It's Sherlock they really want." John pointed out. "We should be fine." He paused, "What are you having to eat?"

"I'm not really hungry..."

"Stop it."

"John..."

"No." He said softly, but firmly, "I'm not having you fall ill. Now choose something bigger than a salad, and eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"Fine, then I'll order for you." John Watson gave her a look as he got up to place their order. Lucy ignored him as he sat back down again. "You aren't doing yourself any favours." He said quietly.

"You need to keep your nose out of my business." Lucy snapped, "You don't understand."

"I reckon I understand quite well," John mumbled.

Their food arrived. John had a burger and chips, and it looked like he'd ordered the teenager a jacket potato with cheese and beans piled on top. She gave him a murderous glare.

"If only looks could kill eh?" He smiled cheerfully as he dug into his burger. Damn John Watson for being so damn cheerful and happy despite the situation. Slowly, Lucy reluctantly started to eat small bites of her food, making sure to chew each bite plenty of times. Truthfully, she'd never properly starved herself. A day or two without food, yes, but not enough to seriously injure her or make herself fall ill. She'd always been very careful.

John had watched her eat, much to her annoyance. She knew he meant well, even though he didn't really go about it all the right way. Lucy had ended up eating half of her jacket potato and filling and the small salad it came with. It was enough for John to be happy, and more than enough to make her feel fat and sick. However, her phone vibrated again in her pocket, she took it out and read the message.

Lucy please, just... tell me you're okay. I'm worried. I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry I had to do that to you and Sherlock. I didn't want to. Just please let me know you're alright.

-Greg x

She felt awful. Remembering what had happened only hours ago, she realised with horror that she told him she hated him. No wonder he was so apologetic.

"John..." She started. "Can I phone Lestrade?"

"Why?" He asked. She showed him the text. "Well it's nice to know he still cares and that he's probably still our friend..." John sighed, "Yeah phone him." Lucy smiled thankfully as she went outside, letting John pay for their food, as she dialled the number for the detective inspector.

"Hello?" His tired voice answered.

"Greg it's me, Lucy." She said softly.

"Oh Lucy! Thank goodness I was so worried!" He sounded relieved.

"I just called to let you know that I'm alright," She murmured. "And I'm so sorry Greg..." her voice broke.

"Hey now sweetie, what on earth are you sorry for?"

"For saying that I hated you." She sniffed. "I really don't hate you. I like you, I love you. You're my friend and I'm sorry I said that."

"There's no need to apologise. I'm sorry too; I didn't want to have to do that back at the flat."

"It's alright; you were doing your job."

"Are you with John and Sherlock?" He asked.

"I'm with John." She said as the ex army doctor walked out to stand beside her, "I need to go now. I'll be in touch soon." She hung up before he had a chance to reply or ask any more questions.

"Sherlock just texted me." John mumbled. "Said he wanted us to go to Bart's whenever we could. He's been on his own for quite a while now." It was still night time, and the cool air nipped at John's cheeks, he sounded worried. "I'm not sure what he's doing but he was pretty distressed when he stormed out of Kitty's house."

"What do you think is going to happen now?" Lucy asked, referring to the Moriarty mystery and Sherlock.

"I have no idea." John gave her a sad smile.


	45. Chapter 45

Chapter 45

Sometime later, Lucy and John found themselves in one of the labs at St Bart's hospital. To the teenager, it was blatantly obvious that there was something troubling the consulting detective, he seemed to be in a world of his own almost- and when John tapped on the counter, she didn't miss Sherlock's eyes widen and repeat the gesture. She narrowed her eyes at him, but Sherlock didn't catch her gaze, instead, he retreated into his mind as he got out his phone, turning away from his flatmates. Eventually, Lucy and John had fallen asleep, sitting on the floor of the lab- it was after all, the middle of the night. A strange kind of heaviness covered the air the following morning. The bright yellow rays of sunlight streamed through the windows, casting light on the room, signalling that it was early in the morning. It all felt odd to Lucy, as though there was something seriously bad going on; Sherlock was more withdrawn than usual, and she guessed that he hadn't slept at all. His behaviour was normal for him, but he seemed distant, and he had barely spoken to Lucy since they had arrived. Of course, this was completely unusual- but considering the situation, for him to ignore her completely, it was more than odd.

They'd all skipped breakfast, feeling too tired and a little bit sick from the previous night's events to eat. John had gone off for a walk, having needed to stretch his legs, leaving Lucy and Sherlock alone.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" Lucy said shrewdly. Sherlock turned sharply to look at her, leaning back on his seat.

"There is nothing to say," he mumbled.

"There really is," Lucy said, "I know something is up. You're keeping things from me and John and I'm scared Sherlock! I'm bloody scared because I know what Moriarty is like and I don't want you to… get hurt." She could see Sherlock's eyes soften for the first time since they arrived.

"Don't you worry about me. Just keep yourself safe." He told her gently. But then he looked away, ending the conversation, and she knew there was no point continuing it.

It was at that moment that John came bursting in, eyes wide looking extremely worried. Mrs Hudson had been shot. He was panicked. And Lucy immediately sprang up, ready to go with John back to Baker Street to their lovely landlady.

"You… you machine!" John yelled at Sherlock, and Lucy looked taken aback at John's uncharacteristically pissed off tone. But when it came to those he cared about, John Watson would do anything to help them, and he couldn't understand, for the life of him, why Sherlock refused to go with them. The ex-army doctor stormed off, leaving Sherlock sat there. Lucy hesitated, looking at Sherlock for a moment, at his completely blank face.

"See, now I know for sure something is up," The teenager said to Sherlock, "You care about Mrs Hudson. You have something planned and I swear Sherlock, you better be bloody careful!" She looked at him, and he looked back for a long moment, before the young girl turned and ran off after John.

"I always underestimated her." Sherlock murmured to himself as he watched her disappear, regret shining in his green eyes.

"John!" Lucy yelled as she caught up to him.

"I can't believe that man," he muttered as they exited the building.

"I think something's up with Sherlock."

"Yeah, he is a bloody idiot."

"No, like, there must be a reason he isn't coming."

"He just doesn't care," John hailed a cab.

"You know that isn't true."

"I know," John sighed, as he told the cab driver where to go. They sat in silence, both worried about their landlady. They had only been driving for five minutes and yet, there was an odd weight to the situation. Lucy knew there was more to this than what they were being told. And she knew that Sherlock would be in trouble on his own. And she had to make a decision, fast.

"John," She started, "You're not going to like this, but I'm going to do it anyway." He turned to look at her with a frown. Lucy looked at him before saying to the cabbie: "Can you stop here please?"

"What are you doing?" John asked incredulously as the driver pulled over.

"I have to go back," She told him, "Mrs Hudson will be okay with you there, but I just know there's something wrong with this whole situation." There was a pause in which she gave him a smile before getting out of the cab, leaving John speechless.

Along the streets of London the teenager ran, gasping for breath. She couldn't squash the feeling of dread that kept building up, so she had to keep running. Eventually, her running slowed to a jog, as she was unable to keep the pace. It had taken her longer than she would have liked to get back to St Bart's hospital and she immediately went up to the laboratory where she last saw Sherlock. And yet, he wasn't there. From in her pocket, her phone started to ring.

"Hello?" She picked it up, without looking at the caller.

"What are you doing?" The silky voice of Mycroft responded.

"What are you talking about?"

"You need to go back and look after Mrs Hudson."

"Sherlock is in danger Mycroft! Don't you care?"

"My brother has made his own decisions." He replied.

"You're not stopping me." She growled before hanging up. Heart pounding, she raced up to the top of the building, bursting out onto the rooftop. Lucy stopped dead in her tracks.

"Well well well, looks like she wanted to witness the grand finale," Moriarty greeted her with a smirk. Lucy looked from him, to where Sherlock stood on the edge, realisation hitting her, knocking her roughly.

"What's happening? I knew something was going on." Her eyes were wide as she moved forward.

"Why aren't you with Mrs Hudson?" Sherlock asked sadly.

"Because I knew you were in trouble."

"Oh she is a smart one," Moriarty grinned, clapping his hands together in glee.

"I knew you were real," Lucy snarled at him.

"But you did doubt him for a while didn't you." Jim said knowingly. Sherlock turned to face them.

"Lucy, you need to go, now. I don't want you here." The consulting detective said firmly.

"Aww isn't that sweet?" Jim mocked, "He's so caring now. Come on Sherlock Holmes, let her witness the fall of the great detective!"

"You can't jump Sherlock!" Lucy yelled at him, "You can't commit suicide because some insane man has played a dangerous game."

"If I don't die Lucy, I'll have to live life as a fraud. And I'm not letting you and John get hurt because of it." He shouted back, and Lucy could have sworn she saw a tear in his eye.

"Oh please, you're boring me now, just do it already." James Moriarty rolled his eyes. Lucy stepped forward. "You can't save him." The criminal mastermind told her.

"I can't let him die!" She pushed Moriarty in a moment of anger. "He saved me so many times! I can't lose him. Why can't I help him for once?"

"Because there is nothing you or anyone else can do." Sherlock said, "I don't want you here anymore Lucy. Just go. Go now, and don't look back." Moriarty had been quietly looking at the exchange between them.

"Look Sherlock, it's very sweet that she wants to help. But I might have to give you more incentive to do it unless you shut her up!" His voice became a deadly shout. And in that split second, Sherlock had to make a decision, and Lucy could see the regret and sadness in his eyes as he came down from the ledge to move towards the teenager. She felt her heart racing, the adrenaline pumping through her veins, yet she was weak, and she knew she was weak.

"Please Sherlock…" Her eyes were brimming with tears. "I can't lose you. I don't care even if you are a fraud."

"I'm sorry Lucy. I have to look after you. I made a promise to make sure you were safe. And I have to stick to that." He looked into her eyes, a silent apology written on his face. Sherlock had to stop her, and he hated himself for what he was about to do. With a quick and swift movement, before the teenager had a chance to register what was happening, he had stepped closer to her, gripped a pressure point on her wrist, another pressure point on her arm before hitting a spot just behind her ear. Immediately, everything went black and the teenager slumped to the floor, completely unconscious. Sherlock lowered her down, not wanting to hurt her further. The consulting detective stroked back a part of her hair that had gone into her eyes before giving her one last, long look.

"I'm sorry." His voice was little more than a quiet murmur. No-one heard it. But Sherlock had to save her. He couldn't let Moriarty hurt her again. Straightening up, he faced his nemesis, prepared to do anything.


	46. Chapter 46

Chapter 46

Greg Lestrade immediately ran over to John Watson, who was looking considerably pale and as though he was about to collapse. Without saying anything, the ex-army doctor just wrapped his arms around the detective inspector and sobbed a few times, trying to supress his tears.

"I'm sorry," Greg managed to choke out. His eyes wandered over to the pool of blood on the pavement, the scarlet liquid staining the grey, starting to dry into a merciless pattern of death.

"I don't know where Lucy is either," John pulled back, running a hand over his exhausted face. "She got out of the cab on our way to Baker Street, saying something about needing to go back and check on Sherlock." His face paled even more, "Oh God, what if she's dead?"

"Hey, hey, don't think like that," Lestrade said gently, although he was scared also, "We'll check the rooftop; she may still be up there." Greg, with an arm around John Watson's shoulder, led him into the hospital and along the way to the rooftop. Everything felt numb. Everything felt wrong. To Lestrade, he could hardly believe that Sherlock was a fake. And the fact that he and Sherlock hadn't exactly parted on the best of terms made things even worse. He ran a hand over his tired face, risking a glance at the broken man beside him. John looked awful, and that was to say the least. He had appeared to have recovered a great deal since they left the outside and the blood on the pavement for the safety of the hospital, but Lestrade guessed that this was just the soldier, a front, to disguise his emotions. Slowly, they made their way to the rooftop.

"This will make Lucy even worse." John managed to sigh. "Just when she was making just tiny steps of progress. God knows what this will do to her."

"We will just have to take each day as it comes," Greg said. Truthfully, he had no useful advice whatsoever. Optimism was his only asset now, although even that was fading. They opened the door to the rooftop and gasped as they saw the teenager lying on the ground, seemingly unconscious.

"Lucy!" John gasped, breaking into a run to kneel beside her. Launching into doctor mode, he checked her pulse. "Thank god she's alive. Just unconscious." He tapped her face lightly in an attempt to stir her. Greg knelt down too.

"Let's get you both back to Baker Street," The DI suggested carefully, knowing it would be hard to go back so soon, "You both need some rest and it will be better for Lucy to wake up in a safer environment." John looked up at Greg and nodded, his face was still pale and he seemed exhausted. With a heavy heart, Greg noted how John's eyes were tinged with red, undoubtedly holding back tears. But there was little he could do to say or help. The truth was, things may not be better for a while.

Lucy's eyes snapped open with pure panic. Jumping up, she felt her body thump to the floor of what appeared to be her room. Feeling dizzy and disorientated, she paused, letting herself adjust. With a worried gaze she noted that she was indeed alone in her bedroom, far from the rooftop of St Bart's hospital. Her heart was racing, adrenaline coursing through her veins as she felt an overwhelming sense of panic overtake her. She could barely breathe. Taking deep breaths in through her nose and out through her mouth, she had to wait. But luckily, it was only a minor panic attack. But that wasn't what was bothering her. She was worried about Sherlock. Getting steadily to her feet, she walked out of her room and into the living room. Greg Lestrade and John were sat talking, but immediately stopped when they noticed the teenager enter the room.

"Where's Sherlock, what happened?" Lucy cut to the chase, hoping for the best but expecting the worst. They looked at each other, both had paled a little, and both looked unsure as to what to say. "No." Lucy shook her head. "Don't." She breathed out a shaky breath, "Don't do this." She felt a tear snake its way down her cheek

"Lucy…" Greg started, looking worried.

"He can't be dead!" She yelled out. "I tried to stop him." She broke down sobbing, "It was Moriarty. No, he can't be dead. He isn't a fraud!"

"Lucy calm down." John walked over to her, looking shaken from the day's incident but extremely concerned for her.

"No, no, no," She started to raise her voice, becoming more and more worked up. "You want me to calm down? Sherlock is dead. He is, isn't he?" They said nothing, only looked down. "I knew it!" She started to cry. "And you want me to calm down when one of the few people who cared about me has been killed? No. Fuck that." She shook her head. Lucy felt guilty, she knew John and Greg were both upset about Sherlock's death. Before she said anything else that she may regret, she walked off into her room. Grabbing a blade and running into Sherlock's room to get one of his secret lighters, she shoved the items into her pocket and walked back out.

"I'm off out." She muttered.

"No Lucy," John reached out to her.

"Just, no, I need to get out for a bit." She looked at them both before leaving the apartment, feeling as though everything was a blur, as though it was all unreal. She felt numb.

Lucy took her usual path to the park, it was all too familiar. All too sickeningly familiar. She wasn't able to be there for Sherlock when he needed her. She wasn't able to stop Moriarty. And now everyone was paying the price. It was like a huge chunk had been mercilessly ripped out of her heart. She felt guilty. Not just for what happened to Sherlock, but she felt guilty for feeling suicidal again, for wanting to cut until her whole body was covered in deep gashes. The only thing stopping her from giving up on life was John Watson. He needed her; he didn't deserve to be left alone. She would just have to do a better job of hiding her cuts.

The troubled and inevitably devastated teenager sat down in a secluded area of the park, taking out the blade and the lighter. She rolled up her sleeves- feeling sickened at the familiar routine, and stared at her scars. Her arm was an array of colours, light purple of healing scars, dark purple of newer scars, white of old scars and skin, and red of the fresher cuts. She couldn't help but smirk at them. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger huh? Bullshit. What doesn't kill you eats you up inside and destroys your mind and soul. She picked up the blade and sliced through her skin. Again and again but it just wasn't enough. She cried in frustration. She cried in desperation. She cried in relentless sadness.

Lucy picked up the lighter, and flicked it, watching the flame flicker in the gentle breeze. It was a mesmerizing sight. The beauty of the flame, of the reds and oranges and yellows all merged together, captivated her. It entranced her. The light snaked around her, through her veins, wrapping around her heart, trapping her being in this endless cycle of self-destruction.

She put the flame to her arm.

Burning away the pain.

How ironic.


	47. Chapter 47

Chapter 47

The death of Sherlock Holmes had taken its toll heavily on Lucy and John. Over the months since his suicide, Lucy's mental state had been deteriorating rapidly. Her arms and thighs and stomach were all littered with fresh cuts and burns of varying severity. She was more careful though in regards to critical veins, she had made a vow to herself to not commit suicide no matter how bad the thoughts got. It was so devastatingly hard, but cutting and self-destruction kept her sane enough to carry on each day. She couldn't leave John. Out of all the reasons for staying in such a cruel world, she did it for John's sake.

John had started to be at Baker Street less and less, consuming himself with work and not returning until very late. Although he hadn't yet told Lucy, John Watson had found someone. He was too scared to tell Lucy, for fear that it may be too soon after Sherlock's death for her to know that John was getting on with his life so much. He knew it was silly but he just wanted to minimise any further distress to the poor girl. By now, Lucy was sixteen, nearing seventeen, and although she refused to go counselling, John felt that she was doing her best to cope as well as possible considering the awful situation. She'd cried at the detective's funeral, and she still cried most of the time, but he could see her slowly trying to come to terms with it all, even though he thought that it would be a very long time until she moved on. There were days when she'd just walk around London for hours on end, on her own, needing the fresh air. And there were days when she would sit by Sherlock Holmes' grave for hours and hours. It was heart breaking. But John knew there was little he could truly do.

Lucy had refused to go to school, opting instead to study in her room, memorising her text books for all of her subjects. Several painful months after Sherlock's death, she sat her GCSE's, and passed with flying colours, earning straight A's across the board much to everyone's delight. On the day of her results, John and Lestrade took her out for a meal at their favourite Indian restaurant. She loved days like that, they felt almost normal. But there was still someone missing.

It was on the one year anniversary of Sherlock's death that Lucy ran away. Together, the teenager and John went to visit their friend's grave and laid down flowers. For a while they sat by the headstone in silence, thinking. Tears were obviously shed and Lucy threw her arms around John in a tight hug. Neither knew what to do. Later that day, John had gone out for a bit, saying he had some work to do, although Lucy knew this was bullshit. Once she was left on her own, she went into Sherlock's old room and sat on his bed, looking around in despair. She slowly walked over to Sherlock's wardrobe and pulled out a grey t shirt that he used to wear when he was lounging around. Lucy buried her face in the soft material, inhaling the familiar yet distant smell of her friend. A tear escaped her. She felt lonely. So lonely. In all honesty she couldn't blame John for staying away from the flat for a bit, but it still hurt. Lucy went into her room, putting on Sherlock's top in the process that was way too big for her. She grabbed her warm black jacket, keys, wallet and phone and went downstairs. The front door of 221B Baker Street shut quietly behind her as she made her way onto the busy streets of London.

It was getting dark by the time she found her way to the roof of St Bart's hospital. The sun was setting, and the last orange hues of the day were painting the skyline as the inky blackness of night slowly crept in. Her phone had been buzzing for several hours now, but she was too numb to even bother looking. She sat down near the edge of the rooftop, near where Sherlock had jumped. She didn't sit on the ledge; instead, the teenager opted for just sitting on the floor, staring at her hands. Her body and mind felt numb, foggy, clouded. As she stared blankly, Lucy wondered why Sherlock would have even committed suicide. It just wasn't something he would have done. She frowned, thinking back to when she had to fake her own death. A part of her knew that Sherlock could have easily faked his own suicide if he needed to. But then again, if he had faked it, why would he have left her and John to suffer for so long? She shook her head. It was all just awful and bad. No words could have described her feelings. Her phone buzzed again. With a sigh, she took it out of her pocket. 50 missed calls from John, Lestrade and… Mycroft? She frowned, they rarely heard from Mycroft Holmes other than a quick check in every now and then to see how they were doing. And yet, Lucy knew that he would have had surveillance on them all this time regardless. She wanted to call back or answer as she saw John's name appear on her phone again, but she couldn't find the energy to. A choked sob escaped her lips as she curled up on the concrete rooftop, closing her eyes.

It was about half two in the morning when she startled awake. The night sky was pitch black and dotted with hundreds of twinkling stars from near and distant galaxies. London beneath her was reasonably quiet despite the sounds of cars and the occasional siren. Lucy sat up, wiping away a small tear from the corner of her eye. She groaned as she felt her phone vibrate again.

"Shit." She muttered. The sheer amount of texts and missed calls was enough to make her stomach drop. She saw it was Lestrade who was calling and knowing she had already scared everyone enough- although unintentionally- she answered it.

"Hello," she mumbled, still slightly sleepy.

"Lucy?" She heard Greg's relieved sigh, "Thank fucking god." He took a shaky breath, "You've had everyone so worried, are you okay?"

"I'm fine…" Lucy had no idea what to say. "I'm sorry." She whispered.

"Hey now, don't apologise, I understand it was a really rough day for you." He said softly, "Where abouts are you Lucy?"

"St Bart's." Her voice was shaky.

"On the rooftop?" He asked, but he took her silence as confirmation. "Right we're coming to get you okay. I promise you aren't in trouble. John is with me now and we're on our way."

"Okay…" The teenager could barely contain the tears. She hung up and with a sob, let the tears flow in streams down her cold cheeks. Her stomach rumbled from not eating properly and she gripped it, feeling the bones easily beneath the small bit of fat that was left. The world was spinning around her, blurry through the tears. She rocked back and forth, crying, not knowing how to cope with losing her friend.

"Sherlock…" She whispered his name to the cold night.

She had lost track of time when the sound of footsteps running towards her reached her ears.

"Lucy!" John yelled her name in pure relief as he ran over and knelt beside her. She looked up at him with a tear streaked face and he pulled her in for a tight hug.

"I'm sorry," she murmured to him and Greg.

"It's okay," John Watson said gently, "What on earth were you doing out here on your own though? You should have let me know you were going out."

"You were too busy," Lucy sobbed. "And you won't tell me the truth. You keep disappearing and I just feel lonely and want to know why…"

"Oh god I'm sorry," John hung his head, "I was just worried to tell you…"

"Please tell me," Lucy had calmed down enough and wiped the tears away.

"Well," John sighed heavily, "I've met… someone." He studied her face and was completely surprised to see her break into a genuine smile.

"That's so great, why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to hurt you."

"Don't be silly," Lucy hugged him, "I'm just happy for you. When can I meet her?" John's face broke into a smile.

Lucy awoke early the next day. After John and Lestrade took her home she had practically fallen straight asleep. She felt tired and achy but stood up anyway and got changed, wearing Sherlock's grey shirt again. Sauntering into the front room, she saw John sat down with a cup of tea and some toast.

"Morning," she mumbled with a smile.

"Morning Lucy," He returned her smile. There was a pause in which he seemed to consider something, "I was wondering, if you're feeling up to it, if you'd like to meet Mary today?"

"Her name is Mary?" Lucy grinned, "I'd love to meet her!"

"Yeah," John laughed, "I was thinking we could all meet in the shopping mall nearby? You mentioned getting some new clothes the other day and Mary loves to shop. So we can meet for lunch and then have a nice day together."

"That sounds great actually," Lucy couldn't stop smiling, feeling genuinely happy for her friend.

After showering, brushing her teeth and getting ready for the day ahead, Lucy strode into the living room where John waited for her. Together, they hailed a cab and got dropped off at the shopping centre. The building was huge! It was three stories high with tons of shops on each level. The outsides of the shops were in great condition, looking shiny and new, the food court smelled delicious and the centre was packed with people. John led Lucy to a coffee shop, where Mary was already waiting outside for them. As soon as she spotted them, Mary's face cracked into a smile and she walked over to them and instantly hugged them both in greeting.

"So you must be Lucy!" She gushed with a big grin, "I've heard so much about you!"

"It's lovely to meet you Mary," Lucy smiled. The woman was very pretty. She was slightly taller than Lucy and had short blonde hair. She was dressed in flats, blue jeans and a white t-shirt topped off with a red coat. Her makeup was minimal but nicely done and her smile was warm and welcoming.

"Do you fancy a drink then?" She nodded at the coffee shop and they all followed her inside.

"She's beautiful," Lucy whispered to John. He looked at the young girl and grinned.

"I have two very beautiful women in my life," He replied, looking at the young girl fondly. Lucy couldn't help but smile. At the counter, John ordered a cappuccino, Mary ordered a latte and Lucy ordered a vanilla latte. Mary and John both got sandwiches, whereas Lucy opted for a fruit salad. Although it was small, John was just pleased she was eating. Once they were seated in the comfy sofas, Mary started talking all about how she met John at the surgery, and how long they had been going out for and how she had been dying to meet Lucy. The conversation was easy and flowed freely.

"I hope you don't mind Lucy," John mentioned, "But I also told Mary how I met you."

"That's fine," Lucy said, "Did you tell her about that case?"

"I haven't yet; I wasn't sure how you'd feel about it." John replied, "I've told her all about the other cases though."

"I don't mind at all," Lucy smiled.

"Ooh I do love hearing all about his adventures," Mary said happily, "Have you read his blog? It's hilarious but pretty good actually!" At this, Lucy laughed.

"Thanks for that," John mumbled, blushing, "This case was never aired to the public though…" John went on to recount the first case Lucy was involved in. Mary listened with interest, her face was a picture, happy at times, sad and shocked at others, but at the resolution she was just smiling happily with awe.

"I can't believe you faked your own death," Mary shook her head in disbelief, "John said you were intelligent but gosh."

"It wasn't easy," Lucy said embarrassed, "I was lucky to be honest." Hearing John recount the story was almost comforting for Lucy to hear. To hear him talk about Sherlock, with nobody getting upset just felt good. She'd missed hearing about Sherlock and his great cases and it made her smile to hear John talk so fondly and lovingly about his friend.

After they had finished their food and drinks, Lucy and Mary dragged John around all of their favourite shops. A couple of hours later, they had their hands full with all sorts of shopping bags. Lucy had purchased a leather style jacket, new jeans and clothes from various shops including River Island and Topshop, as well as some perfume, books and drawing supplies including pencils, colouring pencils and a nice looking drawing pad. For Lucy, it had actually been a great day. She didn't feel completely sad for once. There was a warmth inside her that was once long forgotten, gone cold by the death of her friend, her family, and yet, she felt a rush of hope surge through her.

That night, they all had a takeaway at Mary's house. Lestrade was invited along as well to finally meet the lucky lady and all four of them laughed, and talked and got on like a house on fire. It was a fun night, topped off with a game of Cluedo that Mary one, leaving everyone to take the mick out of Lestrade for most of the night.

That night, Lucy felt no need to cut.

A few more months went by. They were reasonably happy ones. John and Mary were happy together and deeply in love and it was a lovely sight to see. John started to grow a moustache much to everyone's disgust, Lucy and Mary would often moan about it when John wasn't in earshot. Lucy had once tried saying it to John's face but he just ignored her and muttered about how Mary liked it, to which he received a snigger. Lucy on the other hand, was still depressed, skinny and sad. She had been trying her best to eat, but there were days when she literally could not force anything into her small stomach without wanting to be sick. More and more scars were lining her body with almost every passing day, now with burn marks joining them. Her body was a mess, and so was her head. But she managed to carry on every day anyway. She had taken to looking at some cold cases for Lestrade, it eased her mind when things were getting too much; she would imagine Sherlock doing the cold cases and it made her happy to be doing the same things he once did. Although she couldn't solve all of them or solve them as fast, she still did a pretty good job of some of them. In her spare time when she wasn't helping Lestrade, she would draw. Pictures of Sherlock soon filled a few pages of her drawing pad. She was terrified of forgetting anything about him. What he looked like, what he smelled like, what he acted like so she was desperate to hold on to any memories she had of him. She put these memories onto paper. Some coloured with delicate colour pencils, others simply shaded with the grey of a granite pencil.

Every now and then she would spend a day with Greg Lestrade, having fun, playing games and watching tv series or movies. She liked to get away from the flat every now and then. He never brought anything serious up unless Lucy started the conversation. She was grateful for that, he tried so hard not to upset her and being with him made her relaxed and happy. Very rarely, Lucy would give Mycroft a text just to see how he was doing. She understood why he didn't pop in to visit them, but at the same time, she actually kind of missed him. He would always reply though and make sure she was doing okay, and every now and then Lucy would catch the sight of a sleek black car nearby.

It had been a year and a half since Sherlock's suicide. The teenager had gone to visit his grave. She laid down flowers and cleaned the headstone, trying not to cry. The night before she had cut badly, all over her arms and legs and she knew some probably needed looking after but she just did not care.

She missed Sherlock Holmes.

Lucy knew he was never a fraud. It was just devastating to know that his death could have been avoided somehow. The detective had since been cleared of all charges after police investigation, which was comforting for both Lucy and John, but it was too late now anyway. It wouldn't change the fact that her best friend, her family, was dead. And this horrible fact hung over her as she made her way slowly back to Baker Street.

At least John had moved on at least a little bit. She thought back to a conversation they had the other day.

"So… you like Mary right?" John had asked tentatively.

"Of course I do," Lucy had laughed as she turned her attention to him, "Why do you ask?"

"Because," he took a deep breath trying not to let the nervousness show, "I was thinking of proposing to her."

"Oh my god John!" Lucy exclaimed in delight. She had ran over to hug him tightly. He seemed shocked at such a positive reaction but very, very happy.

"You'll be a part of our family as well, don't ever forget that," John had said. He'd always wanted her to know that she was wanted. Lucy would often stay at 221B whereas John mainly stayed at Mary's but also stayed round with Lucy a lot. Mrs Hudson was pleased that they were still around a lot and she would often help with the cleaning and sometimes cook delicious meals for them and Mary. They were all like a family.

Lucy sighed as she entered the flat after visiting Sherlock's grave. Nothing seemed right without him. She missed him greatly and it killed her to think about how he knocked her out on the rooftop that day. She just wanted to help him. She ran a hand over her face. The teenager could hear voices upstairs; presumably John and Mary back from their posh dinner. She smiled; John was going to propose to Mary at the restaurant that night, so it was obviously a yes! Lucy bounded up the stairs, excited to see them.

The flat suddenly went silent.

Frowning, Lucy opened the door, wondering what was going on.

She stopped dead in her tracks.

"Sherlock…" She whispered at the man stood facing her. Behind him, she could see John and Mary with expressionless faces. She looked up at the detective with pure confusion, anger, upset and betrayal. Much to her annoyance, Sherlock Holmes smiled far too confidently and in his deep rumble that she had missed so much, he said:

"Not dead."


	48. Chapter 48

Chapter 48

The beating of her heart must have been loud enough to hear all over London. It was almost painful how fast and hard it was drumming in her chest. The nearly seventeen year old felt paralysed, there was a sickness in her stomach and adrenaline coursing through her veins. The rather grim faces of John and Mary showed no obvious signs of significant emotion; John seemed angry but relatively neutral, whereas Mary was completely neutral, she simply smiled softly at the confused and shocked teenager. It was as though the world had stopped, one of those moments that you only see in films. It was not possible. But, it was Sherlock Holmes, of course it was possible. Several times now Lucy had opened her mouth to speak, before shutting it, having no words to express how she felt. Sherlock's smile eventually faltered. He glanced over her, observing a year and a half's worth of pain. He stopped smiling completely, realising how badly he had messed things up. The rage was visibly rising in Lucy, and Sherlock, deciding to try and calm the situation said:

"Lucy, I completely understand how you must be feeling right now and I want you to know that I am sorry but…"

"Stop." She snapped, not wanting to hear him speak any more. She took a very shaky breath, and fixed her gaze straight on the detective. "Do you have any idea what you have done?" She said in a low and dangerous tone. Before he had a chance to reply, she continued, "Do you realise how badly this all affected me and John? Or did you seriously not care?"

"Lucy," he quickly held a hand out to stop her from continuing. There was a pain in his eyes. "I never wanted to hurt anyone. I had to keep you and John safe." Lucy narrowed her eyes, glancing over at John, she was surprised to see his reaction. He was obviously pissed off at the consulting detective, but at the same time, she could see happiness in his once dull eyes, the sparkle had returned and she could see the love he had for his friend. The young girl felt conflicted. She was angry, no, more like enraged, and confused. But at the same time, she felt ecstatic, she was overjoyed that he was actually alive, that he was not a fraud (although she never doubted him). Lucy had no idea what to feel about the whole situation. The amount of times she had cut up her body because of the pain of her friend's death was almost too high to count, the amount of times she had wanted to do nothing more than commit suicide was devastating. In all honestly, Sherlock faking his own death had sent her down a dangerous spiral of self-destruction, and now all those endless nights of crying, all the times she had contemplated death, every single cut was all for nothing. She broke out of her thoughts by the sound of Sherlock's footsteps approaching her. The teenager looked up at the detective, tears filling her eyes.

"I didn't know what to do without you." Lucy murmured, her voice very quiet as tears threatened to fall. "I could get over my parent's 'death' but I could never get over yours. And I really don't think you realise the impact you have on everyone's lives. You don't realise how watching you fall to you supposed death ruined John, you don't realise how knowing one of the only people to ever care for me die destroyed me." Her voice started to rise in anger, the droplets of tears now cascading over the brim of her eyes, "You didn't even let us know you were okay! I don't care what you had to do, you should have just fucking said something!" She turned and punched the wall, leaving no dent in the solid structure, but creating pretty bad wounds on her knuckles.

"Lucy I couldn't, I had to destroy Moriarty's network. I couldn't leave you or John in danger." Sherlock's voice was soft, he had lost all the cockiness. "I'm honestly sorry, for putting you both through that." He stepped closer and held out his arms. Lucy shook her head.

"I'm going to my room," was all she said before leaving them all standing there.

"I should go after her," John sighed.

"I didn't want to hurt either of you." Sherlock mumbled.

"She knows that," John told him as Sherlock turned to face him and Mary. "It will just take time."

"I am sorry." Sherlock said, but he tried not to show as much emotion this time. John couldn't help but smirk.

"You still deserved that punch, but hey, it's good to have you back." John smiled over at Mary. He made to walk towards Lucy's room but he was stopped by Mary.

"Do you think it's a good idea to disturb her?" She asked, worried.

"Well god knows what she's doing in there so it's probably for the best."

"Has she gotten much worse?" Sherlock asked.

"I don't really know." John ran a hand over his face, "She rarely shows me, but I would guess that she's gotten a lot worse, yeah." He paused, "And I'm worried about her."

Lucy sat on her bed, staring into space. The moonlight shone through the curtains, providing a little illumination to the otherwise pitch black room. Angrily, she brushed away the tears that continually fell. She felt betrayed. Her mind was a rush of emotions and thoughts, and they weren't slowing down. A choked sob escaped from her lips. She reached towards where she kept her blade, and took it in her hand, turning it over and over again. She was about to put it to her wrist when there was a soft knock at her door. Sighing, she put it back in its hiding place and said for whoever was at the door to come in. John came in, turning on the light as he did, brightening up the room. He sat on the bed next to her, giving her smile.

"How are you doing?" He asked.

"As well as I could be." Lucy sighed. John Watson looked at the young girl, seeing how upset she was. He opened his arms and gave her a hug. They stayed there like that, neither really wanting to pull back. Her tears dripped onto his shirt, staining it slightly, but he didn't mind, he simply stroked her hair in comfort. He didn't push her into letting him treat her knuckles once he was happy she hadn't broken anything, he simply left some antiseptic cream on the side.

That night, Lucy insisted that she was okay enough for John and Mary to go back to Mary's house. She could see that neither wanted to leave her, but Lucy didn't want to be watched with worried eyes all the time. Sherlock had gone out, she didn't know where, but she was just glad to have the house to herself for a while. She didn't want to be alone with Sherlock yet.

That night, she had cut deeper than usual.

The next day was a bright day. Lucy woke up early in the morning, slightly blinded by the sunlight that snuck through the gap in her curtains. She got dressed, brushed her teeth and wandered through to the living room. At the sight of Sherlock Holmes, she stopped dead in her tracks. He was staring intently at his wall that appeared to be full of pictures and newspaper clippings. Sherlock stopped what he was doing and turned towards Lucy as he heard her enter.

"Lucy…" he looked concerned.

"No, it's alright," she held her hand up to silence him. "You apologised." Sherlock frowned at this, obviously confused. Lucy just shook her head, not wanting to continue the conversation. Lucy went over to the kitchen and got herself a glass of water, when she returned, Sherlock was sitting down in his chair.

"I missed you, you know." He admitted. She could see he hated to say it, hated to showing that kind of emotion. But his voice was solemn, and honest. "I do have a heart. But I had no choice but to jump from the rooftop that day. If there could have been another way, I would have chosen it."

Lucy nodded in understanding. She finished her water and put her glass in the sink before heading to her bedroom and picking up her keys and wallet.

"I'm going out for a bit," she said.

"Are you going to be alright on your own?" Sherlock asked, looking up at her.

"I've managed just fine before. I won't be back too late." She didn't wait for Sherlock to reply. Instead, she headed downstairs and out of the front door.

The teenager just wanted to get away from everything for a while. She spent around an hour taking a leisurely walk through Regent's park and into Camden. There were many stalls open at Camden market, offering a range of products. In particular, Lucy looked at the alternative clothes, liking the look of several band tops she saw. After a while of strolling around the market, she opted for going to Costa, where she purchased a latte. It was getting late by the time she even considered heading home. She really didn't want to be shut up inside with only her dark thoughts to comfort her. And she was scared to be near Sherlock. She didn't know how to feel anymore. She still loved him, but she was scared of losing him again, of him leaving her without a single thought. But she knew he wouldn't do it again, the teenager was just hurt from the past year and a half. With a sigh, she left the coffee shop and made her way through the busy streets of Camden. The sun was just beginning to set, painting the sky in brilliant colours of orange and yellow, with streaks of blue mixed in. Lucy checked her phone, surprised to find no missed texts or calls for once. She was glad, at least they realised she needed time alone to think things through.

Lucy had to swerve continuously to avoid bumping into anyone along the street. It was around the time that everyone started to finish work or go home after a long day of sightseeing. Being around such a large crowd made her heart beat fast, but she just focussed on heading towards the park. Out of nowhere, a man stepped into her path, causing her to walk into him by accident.

"I'm so sorry!" The young girl apologised.

"It's alright gorgeous," the older man murmured. Lucy, now feeling threatened, gave him a smile and walked around him to continue on her way. After several minutes of walking, she had reached and entered the park. Hearing footsteps on the gravel behind her, she turned to see who was there. Her heart raced as she saw the man she bumped into following her with two other men, all of which appeared to be late twenties or early thirties and around six foot with a muscular build. Feeling panic build up inside her, she quickly sent out a text to Sherlock, John and Lestrade,

'Help I'm being followed.'

Sherlock had been out at the station, talking to Lestrade. The DI was smiling, glad to have Sherlock back. He had asked how Lucy and John took it, but it was obvious that neither took it very well although Sherlock was happy they weren't as angry with him as they were when they first found out. They were just finishing up when they both felt their phones vibrate. Sherlock took on glance at his and looked at Lestrade with worry in his eyes.

"We need to go find her now." He practically yelled.

"I'm asking her where she is." Lestrade said, "Calm down Sherlock it will be alright." Sherlock was pacing up and down the room as he immediately phoned John to see if he had received a text. John said he had and was coming to the station to meet them. Sherlock texted his brother, putting him on surveillance and getting annoyed that Mycroft didn't know where she was. John arrived five minutes later, and by then, Lucy had not replied.

"She could be anywhere," John said, out of breath.

"She was last seen in Camden." Sherlock suddenly said, looking at his phone. "Mycroft's surveillance picked up footage of her being followed by three men. He doesn't know where she went from there." He paused. "She was probably going home by that point, most likely on foot, so she would have walked through the park but he would have picked up on her if she had entered back onto Baker Street." He turned his coat collar up, "She at Regent's Park somewhere, hurry." He shouted. All three of them piled into Lestrade's police car, Sherlock for once preferring to get in a police car than wait for a cab. The sirens were wailing and the car was going as fast as possible along the busy London roads, but they knew they had to get there quickly, or the consequences could be very bad.

Lucy started walking faster and faster, hearing the footsteps behind her match her quick pace. She glanced behind her again, seeing them closer than before. Having little other choice, she broke into a run.

"Hey now, why you running sweetie?" One of the men said mockingly. Overwhelming panic was flowing through her young body, despite all she got through before, she felt terrified now. She didn't want to be alone. She wanted Sherlock. She wanted her friend to save her, to help her.

The park was near deserted now that it was becoming late evening, leaving her far more vulnerable. Lucy knew she wasn't fast enough, she kept sprinting as fast as she could but her physique was nothing compared to the men pursuing her. After less than a minute, she felt strong hands on her arms and she was suddenly flung to the ground.

Her vision blurred, stars dancing in front of her eyes.

She felt their hands on her.

No one was around to help.


	49. Chapter 49

Chapter 49

"Hurry up!" Sherlock yelled at Lestrade.

"I'm going as fast as I can Sherlock." The DI said calmly, trying not to yell himself. Sherlock huffed and glared out of the window at the amount of traffic on the roads.

"It's all my fault." Sherlock mumbled to himself.

"No it isn't you idiot," John looked at the detective. He saw how pale Sherlock was, and how exhausted he looked, the consulting detective looked like he hadn't slept properly for weeks.

"I left, and look what it did to her."

"You had no choice."

"I hurt her and you." He ran a hand over his mouth, "And now she could be in serious danger because she couldn't cope." Sherlock took a deep breath. Lestrade glanced in his rear view mirror at the detective, his face filled with sympathy, but he had no idea what to say to make the situation seem any better.

"You're here now and that's what matters," John said quietly.

Lucy screamed in pain, terrified at what may happen. As she was flung to the ground she felt all the cuts on her arm tear open, leaving the pathway shining red with blood. She couldn't see the faces of the men; her vision was fading. The teenager shook her head, trying to fight the dizziness and blackness. One of the men grabbed her face, stopping her from moving.

"Don't struggle," he whispered menacingly into her ear, sending chills down her spine. She whimpered quietly, unsure of what to do, if she could even do anything.

Sherlock, John and Lestrade had been frantically looking through the park. Luckily, it hadn't taken them too long to arrive, but that didn't stop them all from panicking. Suddenly, an ear splitting shriek sounded. Sherlock froze. John and Lestrade looked at Sherlock. Without saying anything, Sherlock sprinted down the pathway, with John and Lestrade hot on his heels. They arrived to a scene that they never wished to see. Three bulky men were pinning Lucy down, beginning to rip off her clothes.

"Get off her!" Sherlock yelled. Upon hearing company, the three men glanced at each other before kicking the young girl. They ran off before Lucy's friends could reach them.

"I'll go after them," Lestrade shouted. Sherlock and John sprinted over to Lucy. Their hearts were in their mouths, their breathing heaving. Lucy was lying on the floor, her top half ripped off of her, exposing her arms filled with cuts that leaked blood onto the hard ground. John immediately started to stem the bleeding from the deeper ones while checking over the rest of her body to make sure nothing was broken.

"Jesus Lucy," John murmured, he was shocked but slightly relieved to see that they managed to get there before any real harm happened. Sherlock had remained silent, he was clearly unsure what to do and looked a little lost. The consulting detective had knelt down beside her head and slowly stroked her hair, scared that the hurt girl would flinch away. But she did the opposite, she leaned her head into his hand, searching for comfort. Her breathing was rapid.

"It's okay now Lucy," Sherlock murmured. "They will never hurt you again." His voice was determined and hard, and Lucy felt safe when she was near him.

"Everything hurts," the teenager finally managed to choke out. Her face was stained from the tears that fell from her scared eyes, and her two friends both flinched internally at hearing how broken she sounded.

"Trust me Lucy, everything is okay, nothing is broken." John said comfortingly, giving her a smile of reassurance. "You will probably feel sore though."

"They were going to… to…" She couldn't get the words out of her mouth. But they knew what she was talking about. Neither man wanted to think about what would have happened had they not have turned up when they did. It was then that Greg Lestrade returned, looking worried for Lucy's sake. Upon seeing, Sherlock and John's faces immediately turn towards him, Greg quickly said:

"Don't worry they have been taken care of." He came to kneel beside Lucy as well. "Mycroft was outside the park as well. He has assured me that we don't need to worry about them."

"Good." Sherlock muttered, "He can be useful sometimes."

"I think we should take you home," John said to Lucy, stroking her face.

Lestrade drove them back to Baker Street in his car. No one really spoke on the way back. John Watson had borrowed the first aid kit from the boot of Lestrade's car and bandaged up Lucy's arms. Greg didn't go into Baker Street with them, but gave Lucy a farewell hug and told her to let him know if she ever needed anything. John helped Lucy to walk on shaky legs into the flat.

"Oh my gosh what happened?" Mrs Hudson came out of her flat in shock. Sherlock went over to her and murmured into her ear what happened, the landlady gasped and proceeded to say: "You lot go upstairs to your flat, I'll bring up some tea and biscuits." Lucy smiled weakly at her, grateful at the offer.

Once into their home, Lucy practically fell on the couch, clearly exhausted. Sherlock paced back and forth, unsure of what to do or say.

"Thank you," Lucy said. She looked up at the two men who she owed her life to. "I'm honestly not sure where I would be if it weren't for you two." John smiled and sat on the sofa next to her to gently hug the teenager. Sherlock nodded and gave her a small smile.

The three of them had their tea and biscuits before John left to go home to Mary. Sherlock sat down next to Lucy.

"I'm… sorry," he murmured, not looking at her.

"Stop." Lucy said softly, shaking her head. "I told you not to apologise anymore."

"It doesn't change what I did."

"And you cannot keep blaming yourself for what happened today." Lucy quipped. Sherlock looked at her, as unreadable as the detective often was, now and then Lucy could see exactly how he felt.

"Are you okay?" He asked after a pause. She raised her eyebrows at him. He nodded in understanding. Lucy ran a hand over her face. She was tired, and upset.

"Sherlock," she hesitated, feeling completely overwhelmed with emotions. But she shook her head and laughed, "Never mind." He narrowed his eyes, confused. Eventually, she bid him goodnight and went to bed. She was too exhausted with everything to cut that night.

The next morning, she felt sore, but better than the previous day. She got changed and padded into the living room of their flat. Sherlock was in the kitchen, playing with his microscope and god knows what. The consulting detective looked up at her, observed her state of dress and sighed.

"You aren't going out." He said simply as he got up to put the kettle on. Lucy stopped.

"What?" She demanded.

"You heard me," Sherlock said gently but firmly. "I can tell from your clothes you're planning on going out." The teenager looked down at herself.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" She narrowed her eyes at him. He paused, running his eyes over her.

"After what happened yesterday?" He raised his eyebrows. "I spoke to John and he agrees."

"Oh so you two are conspiring against me now." She snapped.

"No," he laughed, only angering her further. But his face turned serious, "We just think it may be best if you take things a little easy for a while and aren't always on your own."

"You are being ridiculous." She started to raise her voice. "I'm almost seventeen! And you and John are not my parents!"

"No we are not," Sherlock rolled his eyes, "but that doesn't mean we want you to endanger yourself all the time."

"Why are you being so…" She shook her head looking for the right word, "Human?" Sherlock hesitated upon hearing this and narrowed his eyes slightly. He cocked his head at her before turning around and making them both tea.

"I don't want you to get hurt." He said, trying to sound detached. "Funnily enough I do happen to care about my friends." He finished stirring in sugar and placed both his own cup and Lucy's on the table in front of the sofa before he flung himself down. Lucy didn't seem to know what to say. So she didn't say anything, she sat down and took her tea, murmuring a quick thank you for the drink.

By the late afternoon, being cooped up inside was doing Lucy's head in. She was bored. The television had nothing interesting on and Sherlock was busy playing with bits in the kitchen. She couldn't really stay in her bedroom, because Sherlock would be constantly checking on her which took all the fun out of it. She felt trapped and it was making her go crazy. Eventually, having made up her mind on what to do, she went and grabbed her phone from her bedroom.

"Who are you texting?" Sherlock asked as she came back in. Lucy looked up at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Mycroft." She replied.

"What?" Sherlock almost shouted. "Why on earth would you want to text that idiot?"

"I'm fed up of this place I want a break," Lucy shrugged. She had texted the older Holmes' brother to ask if she could spend the night at his.

"Are you serious?" Sherlock asked, "You want to spend a night with Mycroft of all people?"

"Yes."

"Why not Lestrade?" Sherlock muttered, obviously angry.

"I don't often see your dear brother." She smirked.

"Fine," Sherlock sighed in defeat, throwing his hands in the air. "I know what you're doing, you're trying to get back at me for not letting you out earlier." He took a breath. "I know you are probably frustrated and annoyed with me, but I didn't do it to intentionally piss you off."

"I know." Lucy sighed as well. "I just… I need a break. If that's okay?"

"Of course," Sherlock eventually nodded. "I just don't like that it's with Mycroft of all people."

Mycroft had texted her back to let her know that she would be picked up at six. She packed a small overnight bag, feeling relieved to be someplace else for a bit. Sherlock looked like a puppy that had been told off when she said the car was there to pick her up. In all honestly, the teenager felt bad for leaving Sherlock, but she knew that he did understand her reasons. She waved goodbye to Sherlock, promising to see him the next day before heading downstairs and out of the house.

Outside, a sleek black Mercedes was parked next to the pavement. Opening the door, she was surprised to see Mycroft sitting in the back seat. She got in, shutting the door behind her.

"Hi Mycroft," She said cheerily.

"Hello Lucy," he gave her a smile. "I must say that this is most unexpected." The car started to drive off.

"I'm sorry if I'm inconveniencing you."

"Not at all." He replied. "I just did not expect you would wish to spend the night with me."

"Neither did Sherlock," she laughed.

"I bet he didn't." Mycroft Holmes smirked. Lucy sighed, fidgeting slightly in her seat, feeling a little nervous under the British government's intense gaze. After a moment, Mycroft spoke up: "You know I do not mind you coming over to my place." Lucy looked up at him in shock.

"Mind reader," she mumbled. Mycroft smiled slightly.

"I know you feel uncomfortable, perhaps thinking you are imposing yourself upon me or that I do not really want you to come round. But I can assure you that I am more than happy to have you over." He said in his posh voice. "I am here for you. And although I may not be anyone's first choice or the most approachable man in the world, I care for you and am here should you need me for anything."

"Wow," Lucy looked genuinely surprised, "thank you Mycroft."

Mycroft Holmes led the teenager into his home. It was not the biggest house but it wasn't by any means small either. Everything in each room was in order, all neat and precise. Lucy stood looking around his living room. There were two comfy looking sofas, a large television, a coffee table amongst other normal bits and pieces. One main wall where the tv hung was all in wood panelling, whereas the others were wallpaper. Lucy breathed in a shaky breath. She felt overwhelmed. It was all confusing. Mycroft's home almost seemed to radiate a sense of normality. Which was strange considering he was a Holmes'. His home was warm, cosy and welcoming. It was nothing like how she imagined. It almost reminded her of her old home… with her parents… her old family... She felt a tear trail down her cheek. Mycroft Holmes looked down at her, very unsure of what to do. Once the tears had started falling the young girl could not seem to stop them.

"Lucy…" Mycroft started uncertainly. She shook her head, turning towards him and wrapping her arms around the taller man. He froze, after all this was not exactly a common occurrence for him. Slowly, he reciprocated the hug, putting his arms around her slender frame in the hopes it would comfort her. After she had calmed down enough, she let go of the older Holmes' brother.

"I'm sorry," she said shakily, wiping her eyes.

"No need to be," Mycroft murmured. He didn't push her into talking about anything, but instead asked: "Dinner?"

The two of them cooked together. Mycroft was a surprisingly good cook and helped teach Lucy how to cook. They made chicken with a homemade sauce with rice and vegetables. At the dinner table, Mycroft poured himself a glass of red wine.

"Very classy," Lucy laughed.

"Would you like any wine?" He smiled.

"Am I allowed?" She asked surprised.

"Of course, it's only a small glass. It won't hurt. You're more than old enough to have a drink at home." Mycroft replied.

"Oh then yes please!"

"I think you may like this," Mycroft went to his wine rack and selected a bottle of sweet white wine. "Not many young people like red." He explained as he poured her a glass. "Have you not had alcohol before?"

"No, not that I can remember." She responded. "Thank you." She raised her glass to his.

They chatted about tv shows and books and music. Obviously Lucy was giving him an education on all the different tv shows that she liked and the music that very different to his own tastes. But she enjoyed herself. She didn't expect to but she really did. Mycroft showed her to the spare bedroom which contained a double bed and plenty of books. He left her while she got ready for bed. Feeling uncertain, but knowing the signs, Mycroft called Sherlock.

"Hello Mycroft," Sherlock huffed, obviously not happy to hear from him.

"How are you dear brother?"

"Marvellous. How's Lucy?"

"She's okay at the moment," Mycroft paused.

"What do you mean at the moment?" Sherlock immediately replied with worry.

"I mean I think it may not be the best of nights." Mycroft sighed, "I recognise the signs. She kept fidgeting with her hands, trying to distract herself and kept scratching absentmindedly at her arms. I know this may be a danger night for her." He paused, "She was very overwhelmed when she got here but settled after a while but that doesn't mean she won't still… self harm." Mycroft heard Sherlock sigh heavily.

"There isn't a lot you can do other than be with her." Sherlock muttered. "I often stay with her at night, but I don't think she would want you anywhere near her at night." Mycroft ignored the insult.

"So wait and see how it goes basically?"

"Pretty much." Sherlock hesitated, "Let me know how tonight goes."

"Of course."


	50. Chapter 50

Chapter 50

Lucy came out of the spare bedroom having gotten changed into a pair of long sleeved pyjamas. She wandered into the living room to see Mycroft lounging comfortably on one of the grey sofas, reading a thick looking novel. He looked up at her as she came in and sat next to him.

"Thank you for letting me stay," the teenager said after a moment of silence.

"No need to thank me." Mycroft replied, bookmarking a page and placing his book down on the coffee table. He sighed and looked at her thoughtfully.

"What is it?" Lucy asked, her eyebrows raised.

"Why me of all people?" He asked. She understood what he meant. Mycroft was wondering why she would turn to him when she needed to escape rather than John and Mary or Greg.

"It isn't just to annoy Sherlock," Lucy laughed. She paused, thinking through her answer. "I'm honestly not quite sure. John and Mary have their own life and probably need some peace and quiet of their own. Greg… well I spent a lot of time with him during Sherlock's… absence, and I love him a lot, but I just wanted to escape from it all." She sighed. "I've never spent much time with you at all, and I suppose a part of me wanted to get to know you a little." The teenager shrugged.

"Well, you are always welcome here." Mycroft seemed a little taken aback but kept his composure.

"Thank you," She said gratefully. There was a pause.

"You remind me a lot of Sherlock sometimes," Mycroft murmured thoughtfully. Lucy looked at him, but the older Holmes' brother didn't elaborate. After a while of general chatter, Lucy bid Mycroft goodnight. He told her that if she needed anything at all, to not be afraid to knock on his door. Truth be told, she was surprised at how nice Mycroft could actually be, and she was grateful for his generosity. But she sighed as she flopped down on the bed in the spare room. The familiar itch was back, tingling along her arms. She groaned, shaking her head in an attempt to clear the thoughts. It was hard for her to believe just how much her life orientated around self destruction.

For most of the night, she tried her best to ignore all thoughts of self harm. She dug her nails into her arms, trying to lessen the burn in her mind that craved for the release of the blade. Tears stung her eyes as she felt angry and overwhelmed with the emotions and thoughts that seemed to constantly plague her. Lucy was bored of feeling the urge all the time. She was frustrated at always feeling the need to tear open her own skin to feel better. Quietly, she groaned aloud. The temptation was always too great to ignore. Feeling extremely angry at herself, she dug into her overnight bag to pull out one of her blades and some tissues. She lay staring at it. It was too addicting. She rolled up her left sleeve, looking down at the bandage that John had used to cover up her arm. The young girl bit her lip, feeling sick. Slowly, she took the blade and placed it just below her wrist in the area of skin above the bandage. Digging down, she quickly dragged it across, feeling a bubble of anxiety rise in her body as she realised that she had gone deeper than intended. It was only meant to be a scratch. Just something small to destroy the urge. Holding her wrist in the air, she pressed the tissues against the cut, doing her best to stem the flow of blood. It took a while, maybe five or ten minutes, but eventually the blood had stopped flowing, leaving behind a wound that made her feel sick. Knowing it needed to be bandaged, she got up in search of a first aid kit or supplies. The teenager swayed slightly as she got up, feeling dizzy from the blood she had lost. From previous experience, she hadn't lost too much to be dangerous at all, nor did she need stitches, but it needed cleaning.

After finding nothing to use in the spare bedroom, Lucy slowly snuck out into the living room. It was late and Mycroft was in his bedroom, so she was safe. There was once again nothing to use in the living room, so she tried the kitchen. On most nights she would have just left the cut alone to heal on its own, but she had started feeling guilty, knowing that she needed to at least try to get better by looking after her injuries at the very least. She was shaking; panicking that she couldn't find anything to bandage her arm with. After having no success in the kitchen, she sank to the floor, her head in her hands. Trying not to cry, she eventually stood up and made her way to Mycroft's room. She hated herself, but she needed help. Lucy paused outside his door, feeling sick and anxious. After a moment in which she gathered herself, she knocked softly on the door.

"Come in." She heard. Swallowing, the troubled girl opened the door. Mycroft was sitting on a chair by the window in his room reading. He was still dressed in a white shirt and suit trousers. Lucy walked in softly, having only gone in a few steps in nerves, she paused. Mycroft Holmes glanced at her and immediately put his book down. Standing up he gestured her over to his bed. He sat on the edge, but Lucy hesitated in front of him.

"Mycroft…" she felt her eyes well up with tears. Knowing that she must look like a state, she refused eye contact.

"It's okay," he said quietly and calmly. "I know." He looked at her left arm. Once again, he gestured for her to sit next to him, and this time she obeyed. From his bedside drawer, he rummaged around and pulled out a roll of bandage, some medical tape and disinfectant.

"How do you…" Lucy started shakily, but she shook her head, "Never mind."

"I thought this may happen," Mycroft mused aloud. He looked up at her surprised face. "I know a danger night when I see one." He explained. He held his hand out, and with reluctance, Lucy offered him her left arm.

"I didn't want to do it." She muttered bitterly. "I hate myself for it."

"It's okay." He reminded her. "Bad nights happen." He carefully and gently rolled up her left sleeve. Lucy studied his expression as he saw her scarred and cut up arm. His face didn't change though, so if he felt any emotion towards what he saw he didn't let on. They were silent as Mycroft cleaned her arm and bandaged it.

"I'm sorry." She whispered as he finished.

"Don't be." He shook his head and smiled at her. Mycroft stood up and gestured to his bed. "You can stay in here tonight."

"No Mycroft it's okay," She started to get up to leave.

"No Lucy." He shook his head. "I'm not the best of people in the world but I am not leaving you alone tonight." Knowing better than to argue with him, she nodded in thanks and got snuggled under the covers. She fell asleep as soon as she closed her eyes.

The next morning, she awoke to find Mycroft asleep on top of the covers next to her. Trying to be quiet, she got out of bed and made her way to the bathroom. Lucy took her time brushing her teeth and getting dressed before going into the kitchen to make tea. As soon as the kettle started to boil, Mycroft came through, awake and dressed in a shirt and trousers as per usual.

"Tea?" Lucy asked.

"Please." Mycroft smiled.

"You didn't have to sleep on top of the covers last night," Lucy murmured, feeling bad that she had inconvenienced him. Mycroft shook his head.

"It's fine," he reassured her. "Please don't apologise again either." He added as he saw her mouth start to open. She shot him a look but eventually smiled and passed him his tea.

"I had a nice night though," Lucy said. It was unspoken but it was obvious she meant before the whole incident.

"As did I." Mycroft agreed. "You'll have to come over again."

"Teach me how to cook more," Lucy laughed.

"Just so you know," Mycroft started carefully after a moment of quiet, "I did keep my dear brother updated."

"I thought you would," Lucy smiled at him. She knew it was in her best interests. Mycroft nodded.

After having their tea, they decided on going back to Baker Street. They rode in the back of one of Mycroft's fancy black cars, watching the busy streets of London. Once at Baker Street, Lucy and Mycroft let themselves into the house and headed up into 221B. Sherlock was sitting in his chair, plucking at the strings of his violin. He looked up at his brother and flatmate as they entered.

"Oh you didn't have to bring him in as well." Sherlock rolled his eyes at his brother.

"It's lovely to see you too little brother," Mycroft smirked.

"Boys," Lucy warned. "Hi Sherlock." She smiled at him. He smiled back. The detective hid it well but it was obvious he was pleased to see her. Sherlock placed his violin down and got up to put the kettle on.

"Not for me," Mycroft said. "I best be off. I have a country to run."

"Oh good," Sherlock smiled patronisingly. The older brother just raised his eyebrows.

"Thank you again Mycroft," Lucy turned to him with a genuine smile.

"My pleasure," he smiled back, "I'll see you soon hopefully." He stepped towards her and gave Lucy a brief hug before taking his leave. Sherlock stared at Lucy in surprise.

"Well that was awkward and uncomfortable," Sherlock mumbled, talking about his brother hugging her.

"It wasn't," Lucy laughed, "He's alright."

"I meant it was awkward and uncomfortable for me." He smirked as he made them tea. They sat down on the sofa together.

"Did you miss me?" Lucy asked jokingly.

"Of course." Sherlock said. The teenager looked surprised. "I only had my skull to talk to." Lucy laughed, having missed Sherlock Holmes a lot.

For most of the day they didn't do a lot. Sherlock was in the kitchen doing experiments. Lucy had fetched her drawing supplies, walking to and from her bedroom before curling up on the sofa with her pencils and drawing pad. She had turned the TV on to some channel that was currently playing a competitive dining programme. The detective groaned internally from having to listen to the infuriating show, but deep down, it felt nice to be back to normality… or as close to normality as was possible at 221B. He smiled to himself. Sherlock Holmes had really missed everyone. He had missed life in London, his friends, his family. The consulting detective dropped two singular drops of citric acid onto the ear in front of him before putting it in the fridge; he removed his gloves and went to sit down next to Lucy. He watched her draw with intent. He noticed how she gripped the pencil, how she moved it across the paper, how she shading delicately every intricate detail.

"Is that the blue police flying box thingy from that show?" He mumbled in his deep voice. She laughed before taking her hand away so he could fully see her drawing.

"Yeah, it's the TARDIS from Doctor Who." She smiled at her picture, "It's flying through time and space." She caught the detective rolling his eyes but was amused when he didn't scoff and tell her how preposterous the show was.

"I didn't know you were that good at drawing." He commented.

"I got back into it when you… well when there wasn't a lot going on in my life anymore I had to do something." She smiled sadly at him. Sherlock kept a straight face. She paused for a moment before flicking through the pages to show him all the pictures she had drawn. He held his breath as he looked through them. His tall figure filled the pages, sometimes in colour, sometimes just shaded in grey.

"Why did you draw me?" His voice was tight.

"I was scared to forget you." She admitted. He put his arm around her, unsure of how to feel.

"What else did you do this past year and a half?" He asked, unhappy that he had missed so much of her life.

"Well," She took a deep breath, "I passed my GCSE's with straight A's." She saw him smile genuinely with happiness for her. She continued, "I spent some time doing cold cases for Lestrade, turns out I'm pretty good at some of them. I also spent a lot of time with Greg actually." She paused, "It felt normal to be with him, watching movies and eating take away at his for the night. It gave me a break." She sighed, "John tried his best to be around as much as possible, but it ended up with him staying at Mary's a lot and me staying here." She smirked a little, "Mrs Hudson enjoyed my company though." She shook her head, "Enough of that depressing stuff anyway." Sensing she didn't want to talk about it any further, Sherlock said:

"Have you thought about going to college?"

"Well err," Lucy looked taken aback, "I have actually." She ran a hand through her hair, "I'm not sure though, but I was thinking I could always give it a try. John seemed keen on it anyway."

"Well there's plenty of time to decide. Obviously I don't think you should but then again, it isn't my decision." She laughed at him. There was a hesitation though from Sherlock. And Lucy knew he was about to bring up last night. Eventually he said: "Are you okay?"

"Sherlock…" Lucy sighed and rubbed her face. He took her left arm and rubbed it with his thumb, his face frowning thoughtfully.

"Mycroft told me." He stated.

"I know he did and I'm sorry," Lucy said shakily. "I'm trying Sherlock. I don't want it to be like this forever." She bit her lip to stop from crying. Sherlock let go of her arm and gazed at her. "You know Sherlock, it's just so hard. So hard." She shook her head. "But I'm gonna start trying more than before." Sherlock felt bad for starting the conversation, he hadn't meant to make her feel worse.

"Do you want to go out?" He asked, hoping it may distract her. "I was thinking we could go to Covent Garden to shop?"

"You hate shopping," She ran a hand over her face, knowing that he wanted to distract her.

"I could maybe hate it less for a bit if you wanted." He huffed.

"I know why you're doing this." She sighed. He looked at her with his bright green-blue eyes.

"Then you would understand why I want to take you shopping."

"Okay." She tried to smile. He looked surprised.

"Really?"

"I have to try don't I?"

"Well get ready to go out then, I'm sure we will make good use of the numerous cheques I receive from my cases!" He smiled, "Oh and I know a nice little place that does some really great pasta dishes."


	51. Chapter 51

Chapter 51

Lucy and Sherlock spent quite a few hours just wandering around Covent Garden and Leicester Square. The consulting detective had not let Lucy pay for a single thing while they were shopping. So far, she had gotten a new pair of black skinny jeans, several t-shirts and jumpers as well as a few bits of jewellery, along with new bits of makeup and some other necessities such as toiletries.

"Oh oh oh!" Lucy suddenly exclaimed. Sherlock looked alarmed.

"What is it?" He asked, looked around them in worry.

"Can we go in there?" The teenager asked, pointing at a large shop called Forbidden Planet. Sherlock rolled his eyes and laughed at her. The store was filled with merchandise from many tv shows, films, comic books amongst others. There was a whole section dedicated to Doctor Who from which Lucy selected a t-shirt to buy. Sherlock huffed at all the merchandise.

"Stupid tv shows," he muttered under his breath. He shot Lucy a good natured look though.

He took her to the Italian restaurant he knew of. It was a little bit away from all the busyness of the main areas of the city, but it was nice to have some peace and quiet. The restaurant had a few other customers, but the two flatmates were shown to a private booth. A candle was on the table, casting a warm glow on the two of them.

"I know the owner of this place," Sherlock said to Lucy.

"I thought that was Angelo's?"

"That place too," Sherlock shrugged. "I know a lot of people." They scanned the menu and Lucy could feel her mouth water at all the tasty sounding dishes. "I recommend any pasta dish." Sherlock said as he watched her carefully. Not long after they were both tucking into plates full of penne pasta, lamb meatballs with red pepper, garlic, and onion all in a rich tomato sauce.

"Today's been really nice," Lucy smiled at her friend. She thought back to the last time they spent time together, but it was so long ago. Her smile faltered.

"It has been," He smiled back, "But what's on your mind?"

"Nothing," She shook her head. "Any new cases?" She asked, trying to change the subject.

"Well," Sherlock sighed, "Mycroft has me on the case of a supposed imminent terrorist attack. I have my leads and who to watch for." But he shrugged, apparently not very enthralled with what Mycroft gave him to do. "It's nothing for you to concern yourself with anyway."

The next few days had been relatively quiet for Sherlock and Lucy. Or at least, for Lucy they were. Sherlock had been out and about numerous times, finally reuniting with John to solve the terrorist case. For the time being, Sherlock and John had kept Lucy out of it, which she was obviously mad about. But after their past two cases resulted in either her or Sherlock being in great danger, she could see that they just wanted her to be safe. Instead, the teenager had spent a lot of time with Mary. John had finally proposed so Lucy and Mary had gone shopping for wedding dresses. It was, in part, a way to distract the young girl, but Mary was more than happy to give Lucy something to do other than be self destructive. However, the teenager had been true to her word, doing her best to not cut as much. So far, she had made it for four days without so much as scratching herself. It was impressive when she had only gone without it for only a day the past few years.

After the terrorist case had subsided, Lucy's seventeenth birthday had come around. She had never done a whole lot for her birthday, she liked it to be quiet. Besides, the past birthday had been when Sherlock was supposedly dead, so she refused to celebrate in any way much to John's annoyance. But on this birthday, she was immediately woken early in the morning by Sherlock roughly shaking her awake.

"Wake up Lucy!" He sounded frustrated that she was still trying to sleep.

"Leave me alone," Lucy grumbled sleepily.

"Happy birthday!" He shouted in her face. Lucy laughed and blinked the sleep away.

"Thank you! What's gotten you all excited?" She sat up and rubbed her eyes.

"John said that people are meant to get excited about birthdays," He shrugged, "He suggested waking you up so I put two and two together." He looked pleased with himself at his grand attempt to be normal.

"Fine I'm up now," she giggled, "Give me a chance to get changed." He nodded before walking calmly out of the room. Sighing in disbelief, Lucy had a quick shower, brushed her teeth and got changed into black skinny jeans and a grey jumper. She dried and brushed her dark hair before doing some makeup- mainly winged eyeliner. She shook her head, it felt almost surreal to have a somewhat normal birthday that was not so far full of death and despair. Feeling surprisingly nervous, she made her way out into the living room of 221B Baker Street.

"Oh my god," She said, laughing as she saw the balloons and banners that John and Sherlock had placed all around the apartment.

"Happy birthday!" John and Mary shouted at her.

"Thanks guys," She smiled. "I wasn't expecting any of this."

"It was Sherlock's idea." Mary winked.

"No it wasn't," Sherlock muttered, embarrassed.

"Well thank you who ever did it." Lucy smiled.

"Come on sit down," John gestured to the sofa. Lucy followed his orders. Suddenly, John held out a present and a card.

"What," Lucy looked shocked.

"It's your birthday, you get presents." John laughed.

"Thank you," Lucy grinned as she accepted it. She smiled as she read the card from John and Mary, and proceeded to open the present. Inside, was a beautiful, and very soft burgundy jumper as well as a Pandora charm bracelet. "Wow," Lucy breathed, shocked that she was given such nice gifts. "Thank you both so much." She hugged both Mary and John, trying not to get too emotional.

"Here," Sherlock murmured as he passed her a gift bag before plonking down on the sofa next to her.

"Thank you," She smiled at him and she opened the gift bag and took a look inside. The teenager took out one present and opened it to find the latest model iPhone.

"Your one is too old," Sherlock simply said.

"Thank you Sherlock," she grinned happily before taking out the last present. She unwrapped it to find a picture frame. Inside the frame was a picture of herself and Sherlock smiling at the camera.

"John took it a while ago," Sherlock explained.

"It's perfect," she smiled at the photo. "I didn't even know we had any pictures together." She turned and wrapped her arms around the consulting detective in a big hug. "Thank you Sherlock."

They spent the day playing board games, which was excruciating given Sherlock's tendency to moan about the rules of every single game. It was even worse when he lost a game and sulked. But it was still the perfect day for Lucy. Mrs Hudson had come up to give Lucy a present of homemade cookies as well as a gorgeous light grey scarf. Later on, Sherlock, John and Mary took Lucy to Angelo's restaurant for a birthday meal. But the teenager was very surprised to see Mycroft and Lestrade waiting for them when they arrived. They wished her a happy birthday, and gave her gifts. Greg got her a couple of charms to go on her new Pandora bracelet, whereas Mycroft had gotten her a range of CDs from her favourite bands as well as some classic books. She hugged them both. But most of all it made her laugh how Mycroft managed to remember all of the bands she liked. They all sat around a large table, eating Italian food and having a great time. It was a strange feeling of normality amongst the normally crazy life they led, and Lucy was certainly glad of the break.

In the evening, after being stuffed with good food and birthday cake, it was just Sherlock and Lucy back at the flat. They had sat down on the sofa together, watching random telly that neither was particularly interested in.

"Thank you for today Sherlock." Lucy smiled at him.

"It's your birthday, you deserve a good day," he murmured, picking up his violin. After a moment of silence, he started to play a beautiful melody. It lulled Lucy to sleep as she got lost in the music.

She awoke the next day in her own bed. The teenager was confused as to how she got there, but assumed that Sherlock must have tucked her into bed as she still had her clothes on from the previous day. Glancing at her new phone, she was startled to see that it was already midday. She groaned as she rolled out of bed. She quickly got ready for the day, dressing in ripped black jeans and her new burgundy jumper. She sauntered out into the living room to find it empty. There was a note on the kitchen table written in Sherlock's neat handwriting, it said 'new case, had to leave, text me when you're awake.' Lucy sighed and sent Sherlock a text, letting him know she as up. He replied almost immediately saying that Mycroft would be round shortly. Feeling confused, she called him.

"What's going on Sherlock?" She asked as soon as he answered the phone.

"New case," he muttered.

"Why is Mycroft coming to fetch me?" Lucy asked, trying to keep her cool.

"Well, new criminal on the loose, it's not always safe."

"Funny." Lucy said humourlessly. "What is going on Sherlock?" There was a pause.

"People are being murdered." He said quietly.

"That always happens in your line of work," her voice was clipped, she knew he wasn't telling her something. She heard Sherlock sigh.

"Teenagers are being taken. They are being tortured. They are being murdered." Sherlock eventually said. "They are being taken from their own homes, from school and from the streets. It is not safe."

"It's never safe." Lucy retorted.

"We aren't going to take that risk with you." Sherlock murmured softly.

"And you know how much I hate being controlled."

"Don't run off."

"You know me too well." Lucy smirked.

"I'm serious."

"As am I."

"Why do you do this?" Sherlock sounded exasperated. "I'm trying to keep you safe."

"I'll see you later." Lucy muttered after hanging up. She went to her room and grabbed her keys and wallet. She walked out of the door of Baker Street to see Mycroft's car already parked outside. The teenager paused, glaring at it. After a moment of consideration, she decided to ignore it and start walking to her favourite coffee shop. From behind her, she heard a car door open and close. And in no time at all there was a firm hand on her shoulder.

"You'll want to be careful Mycroft, after all these killings, I don't think the public will take too well to see a man taking an innocent teenager into his mysterious car." Lucy said loudly before turning to face the older Holmes' brother. His face was stern.

"Are you really going to play this game Lucy Patterson?" He said in a hushed whisper. Mycroft did not sound happy. Lucy flinched at hearing her last name and glared at him.

"If you are that bothered about me, feel free to accompany me while I go and get a drink." Lucy raised her eyebrows.

"You really do remind me of Sherlock sometimes." He muttered, "You fit in well with the family." Mycroft let go of her shoulder and she started to walk off, but this time with the British Government walking beside her.

"Why do you have that umbrella again?" Lucy frowned at him. "It's not even raining." Mycroft just smirked at her and gave no reply. She led him into the coffee shop where she promptly ordered a skinny vanilla latte. Mycroft ordered tea and paid for them both.

"Now will you come with me?" Mycroft asked as they walked along the streets with their drinks.

"Don't you have a country to run?"

"I do that most of my life, if anything is urgent I will be contacted, but until then I am entirely free."

"Wonderful." Lucy rolled her eyes, "I love these part time politicians."

"Amusing." Mycroft raised an eyebrow at her. She stopped walking and turned to look at him.

"Look I'm sorry Mycroft," she sighed, "I'm just a little annoyed that Sherlock is being touchy about me being involved in his cases." She took in a deep breath. "I can see why he does it but it does really piss me off sometimes. I just want to be involved. I enjoy doing what he does."

"I understand," Mycroft said softly. A black car pulled up beside them and they both promptly got in. The older Holmes' brother looked at her as they finished their drinks in the car. "I noticed earlier that you didn't seem too pleased about being called your full name."

"How observant," Lucy sighed. She ran a hand over her face before scratching unconsciously at her arms. "I despise the name if I'm honest. Patterson," She spat, "Was my parents' last name and as you can imagine I don't particularly wish to be associated with them."

"Of course," Mycroft nodded. "Would you like to change it?"

"Really?" Lucy looked up at him in surprise.

"As you, John and my little brother so often say, I am apparently the British Government, it is easy for me to change your last name."

"Oh of course," Lucy laughed nervously. "Well in that case yes please."

"Very well, leave it to me."

Lucy ended up spending most of the day at Mycroft's. Together they watched the movie Jane Eyre, upon Mycroft's recommendation. And it even got so late that they ended up cooking dinner together. The older Holmes' brother showed Lucy how to cook a lamb meatball pasta bake from scratch. It took a while but the results were worth it. Once again, Lucy and Mycroft both had wine and talked about all sorts.

"Do you have any baby pictures of Sherlock?" Lucy asked as they sat in the living room, playing chess. "Or any pictures of him as a child."

"I'm not sure," Mycroft shrugged. "If you'd like I can dig some up and bring them round next time."

"That would be great!" Lucy smirked, "I'd definitely like to see them."

"I'm not sure if Sherlock has told you yet," Mycroft started hesitantly, "But our mother and father will be coming down for the weekend soon."

"What your mum and dad?" Lucy laughed, "I've never met them! They weren't even at Sherlock's funeral."

"Yes well, they were in on it." Mycroft told her with a tone of regret in his voice.

"Don't you want them to come down?"

"They are forcing me to take them to see Les Miserables." Mycroft huffed.

"That's funny!" Lucy giggled, "But no, Sherlock has never mentioned them I don't think."

"Well in that case we best introduce you to them when they come down." Mycroft smiled. "Of course they know all about you."

"Of course." Lucy shook her head, laughing. "Mummy and daddy Holmes, who would have thought it."

After losing many times at chess, Lucy was relieved when Sherlock finally came and picked her up. Mycroft sent them home in one of his fancy Mercedes. Sherlock refused to talk about the case a whole lot. It was obvious he wanted the teenager involved as little as possible. But Lucy was having none of it, whether Sherlock liked it or not, she couldn't be supervised all of her life and eventually he would have to either take her with him or leave her on her own. Instead of continuously pressing the issue, Lucy instead decided to ask Sherlock all about his parents. She was excited to meet them after all.


	52. Chapter 52

Chapter 52

"You've done well you know." Sherlock suddenly said. Lucy looked up at him, having stopped drinking her tea mid sip. The day had been relatively quiet, other than Sherlock banging around the flat trying to think of what was going on in his new case.

"I'm sorry?" Lucy frowned at him, unsure of what he was talking about. "Have I missed out on an entire conversation?" Sherlock rolled his eyes at her comment.

"I meant," he said gently, "That you haven't cut for several days. You've done really well."

"Oh, thanks." Lucy blushed, not knowing what to say. Sherlock looked actually pleased for her and she smiled awkwardly at him. Truthfully, although she had managed to resist the urge, she never realised just how bad the need to cut would be. After just one day it was almost unbearable, but after several… she felt like she was going mad. The itch on her skin wouldn't leave, it was as though tiny bugs were crawling over her body, making her want to rip her own flesh open. It was insufferable. Of course she was proud of herself for making it so far, but it was a lot easier said than done to continue on the same course. Suddenly, Sherlock's phone rang and he sprang into life. He ran to the kitchen, talking hurriedly to Greg Lestrade- from what little Lucy could gather from the conversation. After a moment he came bounding out again.

"Another murder!" He yelled, not trying to quell his excitement. "A sixteen year old male, found with presumed torture marks a mile away from his home." Lucy looked up at him expectantly.

"And I'm supposed to sit and wait for you to come home?" She asked.

"No," Sherlock muttered as he put his scarf on, "You will have to come with me for now. But bring a bag with some overnight stuff just in case." Lucy smiled with excitement, thrilled to finally be allowed to go with Sherlock on a case! She ran into her room and grabbed a bag, packing a couple days' worth of clothes as well as one of the books Mycroft bought her. She hesitated. Making up her mind, the teenager grabbed her blade and shoved it into her bag. Just in case, she told herself.

Not a moment later, Lucy and Sherlock were in the back of a cab, whizzing through the streets of London to the scene of the crime. John and Mary were at work, so it was just them. It was nice, it had been ages since the two of them had been out solving crimes together. They hopped out of the cab and were instantly greeted by DI Lestrade.

"Greg!" Lucy gasped excitedly as she grabbed him into a tight hug.

"Hey there you!" He sounded pleased to see her, "It's been a while since you've been to work with us."

"I've missed it," Lucy laughed. Sherlock huffed impatiently, and with a chuckle, Greg led them through the sea of police tape to where a body lay on the cold concrete. Sherlock immediately knelt down to begin examining it.

"This is the third one now." Lestrade sighed, obviously concerned. Lucy whistled at the sight of the corpse. The body of the young male was lying face up with his eyes closed. Deep purple bruises and what appeared to be whip marks marred the pale white skin, leaving criss-crosses of bright red.

"So he was tortured?" Lucy murmured.

"It appears so." Greg ran a hand through his silver hair. "Notice the marks by his wrists, those are the marks normally left by handcuffs." There was a pause. "He was beaten to within an inch of his life too by the looks of it."

"Similar state to the other victims," Sherlock added matter of factly.

"It all looks recent," Lucy observed.

"Exactly," Lestrade nodded, "No previous sign of abuse."

"This is what makes it tricky," Sherlock stepped over the body to get a better look at the whip marks and any other injuries, "Normally victims of abuse know their abuser, often through family. But these haven't." Sherlock smirked. "It's a very different case. A different type of serial killer doing what he's doing just for the pure, sick, fun of it."

"Delightful," Lucy wrinkled her nose.

"But they've made a mistake!" Sherlock said triumphantly and rather loudly, earning questioning glances from the surrounding officers. From within the dead boy's pocket, Sherlock took out a mobile phone and waved it around. "This," he announced (ever the drama queen), "Is very important." He pressed a few buttons and scrolled through some texts. "It appears as though the killer text him." Greg leaned in to get a closer look at this revelation. The text read: 'hey gorgeous, how about we meet at mine tonight? X'

"That could be a girlfriend." Lucy suggested.

"No, the number has not been saved. If it was someone he liked or loved, he would have given the number a name." Sherlock rolled his eyes at them. "There are no previous texts. So I would assume the boy deleted any previous texts in case of being found out. It looks like the killer gets to know his victims, maybe flirts a little, invites them on nights out… gains their trust until they will meet up with him at his place." You could practically see the cogs whirring in the consulting detective's brain. "This killer is careful to get trust. So no one is suspicious. Perhaps the teenagers feel too uncomfortable to tell their family about their new friend. So only the victim knows who the killer is."

"So basically it could be anyone who becomes friends with teenagers?" Greg asked.

"It could, but we have their number." Sherlock looked at him with a degrading look. "Even if he uses a different phone each time, he still accidentally left the phone on the body- which hasn't happened with the previous victims. We just need to track the number." He looked excited. "Come on! We have a killer to track!"

After having a cup of coffee with Lestrade and having a catch up chat about life in general, Sherlock had managed to get a location for where the phone should be. They were doubtful they would find the killer, but they were hopeful. The phone could be traced to a hotel in Greenwich, London; and so Lucy, Sherlock and Lestrade headed off towards the hotel. It looked like a fancy place and was very close to the River Thames.

"How are we going to know who has the phone?" Lucy asked as they walked to the door of the hotel.

"We check their records," Sherlock muttered. "Most people leave a mobile number if they need to be contacted." Once inside, Lucy couldn't help but look around at how luxurious the hotel looked. Sherlock and Lestrade had already started talking to the girl at the desk, so Lucy took the opportunity to have a look around. She wandered into the next room which appeared to be a public lounging area. There was a door that led to the gardens and so she quietly opened it and stepped out into sunshine. There were many benches and flower beds in the large expanse of the gardens. Several couples were sat on the benches, enjoying tea. Knowing that her absence wouldn't be missed for a few minutes while Greg and Sherlock were trying to find the owner of the phone, the teenager took the liberty of walking through the gardens, enjoying the sweet scent of the flowers and the warm heat of the sun.

She sat down on an empty wooden bench at the end of the garden, admiring the view of the green grass, and colourful array of flowers. A few moments went by when she was lost in a peaceful silence- something which she found was rare to come by.

"Hi there," Lucy jumped as a young male voice shocked her out of her thoughts. She turned to look at a teenager, around the age of nineteen. He had hazel eyes and slightly scruffy brown hair. But he was dressed smartly in black jeans and a blue checked shirt.

"Uh, hi." She eyed him warily. Having spent a while with Sherlock she had learnt not to trust easily. Especially when there was a killer on the loose.

"Do you mind?" He gestured to the empty seat next to him. She shook her head and tried to ease up as he sat next to her. "My name's Daniel." He smiled at her.

"I'm Lucy," she narrowed her eyes at him. "Is there something I can help you with?" He laughed at her.

"I'm guessing you aren't used to making friends." He looked at her. "I was just having a look around the area. I like the gardens here." He shrugged as he chatted, "I don't normally see many other teenagers around here though."

"There's a university just a few streets away." She eyes him, not trusting him at all.

"I meant at the hotel," he chuckled. "I like your eyes."

"Um thank you," She blushed, embarrassed. He seemed too nice.

"Maybe we could hang out some time?" He asked hopefully.

"Why?"

"I don't know. You seem nice and pretty," he smiled, "And mysterious. You seem to have a very strong guard up." Lucy didn't reply. But Daniel didn't seem fazed, "Here's my number anyway." At this, Lucy took the piece of paper and immediately studied it. But she was slightly disappointed to find that the number did not match the mobile they were currently trying to track. "I'll hopefully see you around." Daniel smiled as he stood up.

"Yeah… see you." Lucy was still unsure. After reflecting on whether or not he was dangerous, and not being able to make up her mind, Lucy went back in to find Sherlock and Greg. They were in the exact same place as before. But she soon found out that they had found out nothing. No records of the phone ever being there, none of the guest's numbers from the previous two weeks matched.

They went home later; Lucy hadn't needed to bring her overnight bag after all. She could barely sleep that night. Daniel had confused her. There was something about him that just wasn't quite right. Obviously she hadn't told Sherlock or Greg about him, they would just worry. But she wanted to meet him again to see what would happen. After a moment of indecision, she texted the number he had given her. Her text read: 'Hi, it's Lucy, fancy meeting up?' He had replied almost immediately, and it was decided that they would meet at ten in the morning at the hotel.

The next morning, Lucy had arisen before Sherlock. She was unsure what to do and what to say to Sherlock, so she instead settled for writing him a note. 'Gone out to meet a friend, will text if I need anything.' She hadn't mentioned any friends so she hoped he would believe her lie. She left it on the kitchen table before grabbing her overnight bag and heading out. It hadn't taken too long to get to the hotel, but it was just after ten when she got there. Immediately, she saw Daniel waiting outside.

"I didn't think you were coming," he admitted as she walked over to him.

"Trains," She muttered by way of an explanation. He nodded in understanding.

"Come on," he grinned at her as they headed into the hotel. Instead of heading for the garden, he started towards the stairs.

"Where are we going?" Lucy frowned.

"Just to my hotel room," Daniel shrugged, "I booked it for a couple of nights. I just need to grab my wallet and stuff." Feeling extremely dubious, she stupidly followed him to the first floor and into his room. She hesitated. She knew it could be very dangerous, and she was getting an even worse feeling the longer she was near him. "I don't bite," he laughed at her and gestured her in further. He shut the door behind them. Lucy took a few tentative steps inside. Everything seemed normal. Daniel reached for a gym bag, to get out what she presumed would be his wallet or something. Instead, when he opened it, she got a glimpse of a gun and what looked like a whip. Her eyes widened. Seeing her reaction, Daniel immediately grabbed her arm, restraining her with frightening force.

"What's wrong?" He asked innocently.

"Are you serious?" Lucy hissed at him. "It was you…"

"Ah so you were with the detective." He smirked.

"But they checked the phone records…"

"I have many phones."

"But… why?" Lucy's eyes were filled with fear, unsure of what to do.

"Just a bit of fun," his smirk sent chills down her spine. "Well I was hoping to have a nice day out and get to know you a bit… but I don't think we can really do that now." With panic, Lucy tried to open the door, only to find it had been locked. The keys were on the bedside table. Daniel just laughed as he went back to his bag. He took out the whip, and felt it in his hands. "I like this one," he said softly, smirking at the whip, "It's nice and… kinky."

"You're sick." Lucy spat, feeling disgusted by him. Her stomach twisted uncomfortably, and she felt her phone begin to vibrate, but knew it was too dangerous to even bother trying to answer it. Daniel's eyes hardened and had a dark glint to them. He stalked over to her and grabbed her wrist, earning a wince at the force of his hand. He dragged Lucy over to the bed where he roughly pushed her down. Without warning, he brought the whip down onto her chest with frightening force, knocking Lucy backwards. She screamed out, hoping someone would hear her. With a renewed force, the whip was brought down again and again, and she felt her body bleed with the force. Her clothes had ripped. Feeling vulnerable, but knowing she had to do something, Lucy dodged the whip and punched him square in the jaw. It knocked the breath out of him and he stumbled on his feet. Lucy's heart was thudding with panic, but she kicked him in the chest as he regained his balance, causing him to fall back. He looked enraged, but she felt a sense of empowerment. Quickly, she grabbed the lamp that was on the table, and hit him round the head. Not hard enough to cause permanent damage but enough to disorientate him. She pinned him down, using her nimble fingers to find the pressure points around his neck. Pinching hard, she ignored his struggle to get up and held on until she saw the consciousness leave his body. Eventually, she let go. With shaking hands, she realised how badly she had attacked him back. But she had to defend herself somehow. She sobbed and reached for her phone. There were many missed calls but she instantly dialled Sherlock's number.

"Lucy," He immediately picked up, "Where the hell are you?" She choked out a sob. "What happened are you okay?" Sherlock's voice instantly became softer and even more worried.

"Help," was all she cried out before breaking down into body wracking sobs. Why did all the bad stuff just keep happening to her?

"Where are you? What happened?"

"It was Daniel."

"Who?"

"The killer." Lucy could hardly control her breathing. "I met him in the garden yesterday at the hotel. He wanted to meet up… I didn't realise he was…" She sniffed, fighting the tears. "We're at the hotel, he has the whip and a gun."

"Jesus," She heard Sherlock gasp. "Where is he now?"

"Knocked out on the floor."

"Well done," She could hear the smirk in his voice. "I'm coming to get you now; Greg will be on his way with other officers."

"I can't Sherlock…" Lucy cried.

"Can't what?"

"I don't know. Just hurry." Lucy hung up.

She had waited ten minutes. All she had done though was pace back and forth, scratching her arms, occasionally glancing over to make sure he was still out cold. Sherlock texted her to let her know they would be twenty minutes. But she couldn't wait any longer. Lucy ran out of the room, not being able to stand another second being near that boy. She bolted out of the hotel and onto the street, turning the corner to the park. She kept her head down as she passed other people, knowing that her face was tear streaked, red and blotchy. The teenager found a quiet area away from the public eye and opened her bag to get her blade. She had been doing so well, but she needed to hurt herself so badly. Just to feel something other than sadness and despair. Lucy couldn't remember how many times or how deep she had cut. All she knew was that she was fed up of being attacked and dragged into awful situations. It scared her. She had brought it all upon herself, but she just wanted it to be different. Maybe that was why she had gone with Daniel. She wanted something good to happen other than just the shitty things that seemed to plague her.

Lucy wasn't sure what had happened. But someone was shaking her. Checking her pulse. Checking she was breathing. Looking at her arm. With panic, she opened her eyes. Sherlock's beautiful, but terribly worried eyes looked back at her.

"Lucy?" He said her name softly.

"Sherlock." She mumbled groggily, feeling very light headed.

"It's okay now, don't move." He put a restraining hand on her shoulder. Lucy looked over slightly to see Greg Lestrade carefully cleaning her arm.

"Greg," Lucy said his name, trying to make sense of what was going on.

"Hey kiddo," he smiled sadly at her. It was then she remembered all the cuts on her arms.

"Fuck," she sat up with panic. Immediately, she squeezed her eyes shut against the dizziness that overwhelmed her mind.

"Lucy, calm down," Sherlock murmured, he was clearly worried. It was then that John came into view, striding towards them with a medical kit.

"Hey Lucy," he greeted her with a sad smile. He set the kit down on the bench and immediately set to work on her arms. The teenager was still very disorientated at what was happening.

"Why are you here John?" She frowned. He looked at her sympathetically.

"You cut pretty deep," He said gently as he put butterfly strips on the worst cuts.

"I didn't mean to," She felt tears welling up in her eyes.

"It's okay," Sherlock reassured her with a tense smile, "We aren't angry."

"But," Lucy's eyes widened, "Did you get him?"

"We can't find Daniel," Greg sighed. Lucy's heart dropped, she felt sick.

"This is so messed up." She muttered.

"Indeed," Sherlock agreed, "Turns out he has several phones. And now we aren't sure where he has gone. He must have woken after you left."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm glad you actually left before he woke up," Sherlock sighed. "As much as I hate this."

"You haven't lost too much blood," John said after a pause. "You should be okay."

"I'm so sorry," Lucy bit her lip as the tears fell down her cheek. Sherlock sat beside her and put his arm around her in what he hoped to be a comforting hug.

"No need to apologise." He shook his head. "But, we do need to track this Daniel person down and make sure he pays." There was an awkward pause. "I hope you will understand that you can't come."

"I don't want to anyway," Lucy smiled weakly.

"I'll give Mycroft a text." Sherlock muttered slightly bitterly at the thought of his brother. "I've already been keeping my dear brother informed as to what has gone on. Being with him will be the safest option." Lucy nodded in agreement. There was silence as John cleaned her wounds.

"Are they bad?" John suddenly asked, gesturing to where the whip had hit her body.

"I don't think so," she shook her head. "I'll just put some anti-septic on it later or something." John nodded, content with her reply. She sighed, "So I will stay with Mycroft until this is over?"

"Yes," Sherlock nodded. Lucy was quite relieved at the prospect.

Once her injuries had been fully treated, Mycroft's sleek black car pulled up outside the park. Sherlock had helped Lucy onto her feet and picked up her bag for her. But she didn't miss how Greg had picked up her blade that had fallen on the floor. She didn't dare ask for it back. She saw Greg throw it into the bin nearby, but that was okay, she could get another. It was a sick thought though. The teenager hugged both Lestrade and John very tightly, thanking them over and over for all they had done for her. Sherlock escorted her to Mycroft's car. The older Holmes' brother got out to greet them.

"Good afternoon Lucy, Sherlock." He smiled.

"Take care of her," Sherlock said.

"Of course." Mycroft said seriously. She could tell from Sherlock's face that he was truly grateful for his brother's help, although he would never ever admit it. Lucy turned to hug her flatmate, he leaned in tightly and kissed her very gently on top of her head.

"Thank you Sherlock, I'm really sorry," she said quietly.

"It's okay, I understand." They broke apart. He smiled at her before taking his leave, heading back to Lestrade and John.

Lucy and Mycroft both got into the backseat of the car. Normally, they would sit by their own window. But this time Lucy moved over onto the middle seat so she was right next to Mycroft. As the car started moving, she felt tears start to trail down her cheeks again. Mycroft Holmes was never good with affection or comfort or anything of the sort, but he always made the effort with Lucy. He moved his arm to wrap around her shoulder and pulled her into him slightly. She gratefully accepted, leaning against the older man, she turned to wrap an arm across his chest as she hugged him, crying into his shoulder.

No words needed to be said, so they drove to Mycroft's house in silence. They entered his house and Mycroft immediately set around making them both a cup of tea. Together they sat on the sofa in the living room, the TV was on but neither was really watching the dining competition show.

"I can't believe this happened." Lucy eventually whispered after a sip of her tea.

"It isn't your fault," Mycroft said.

"It is though." Lucy was angry at herself. "I was stupid enough to walk into that trap. I knew something was up but I was too stubborn. I had to find out for myself." She sighed. "I guess, I just thought he might actually just want to be friends you know? It sounds stupid but I just wanted to see what would happen." She bit her lip. "I knew there was something going on, I knew I shouldn't go there alone but I did. And look how I messed up again." Her voice was getting hysterical. "That's all that ever happens! I get into all sorts of trouble and danger because I want to do things on my own or because I've had enough of being babysat." She put her face in her hands, embarrassed that she was crying yet again. "I'm the only reason for my own downfall. And I wish I could blame someone else. But it's just my fault. I just can't believe I could have this much bad luck. Not only did my parents do all of what they did to me, but just the other week I was almost raped." She spat out the words with venom. "My life just seems to be going downhill and I just don't know where I keep going wrong anymore." She took a deep, shaky breath.

"Lucy…" Mycroft started slowly, clearly extremely unsure of what to do or say. "Yes, you may go off on your own far more than is really advisable, but you cannot blame yourself for being attacked." He took a sip of his tea and put the cup down. "Obviously there are things you can do to be safer, to prevent this, but it is not your fault that there are sick people out there who wish to harm others."

"I know but…" Lucy sighed, "I just feel like it is my fault. Like I'm doing something to cause all of this."

"I suppose living with Sherlock does have its downfalls." Mycroft smirked, but his face turned reassuring. "Honestly, Lucy, yes you may frustrate us by endangering yourself, but no-one blames you for these bad things happening to you."

"I cut Mycroft." She suddenly said.

"I know." His voice was tenser. Uncomfortable? Upset? She wasn't quite sure.

"I had gone for several days without it as well."

"You can do it again."

"But now I want to do it more than ever." She looked at him. She was ashamed of herself. "I want to do it again and again until I can't feel anything. I don't want to feel anymore Mycroft." She brushed the tears away from her face angrily.

"You're worth more than that." Mycroft told her. She could tell he didn't know what to say or do for the best.

"I need it Mycroft."

"You don't need it, you want it."

"I don't know what to do with myself." She took another sip of her tea.

"Well," he looked thoughtful, "Let's try to distract you from those thoughts for as long as possible. How about you get into some pyjamas or lounging clothes and then we can put a movie on or play a game or something."

"Don't you have work to do?" Lucy eyed him curiously.

"I've been working non-stop as per usual lately, if anything urgent comes up then I will deal with it but until then, I don't even need to think about work." He smiled suddenly, "You asked me that last time."

"Yeah, and you're still a part time politician." She smiled, trying to lighten the mood.

She had gotten into her long sleeved pyjamas and went back out to find Mycroft with a bowl of popcorn. He had shed his normal waistcoat and blazer and was just wearing a light blue shirt and dark suit trousers and socks. It was his version of dressing down and getting casual.

"Very domestic," she commented.

"I asked Anthea what was best to stock for when you came over." He shrugged.

"Anthea?"

"My personal assistant."

"Of course, silly me." She smiled. Mycroft insisted that Lucy selected a movie and so they ended up watching beauty and the beast. It obviously wasn't Mycroft's first choice of film, but it was a Disney classic so by the end he didn't hate it too much. They sat in comfortable silence, munching on the popcorn and enjoying the film. After a while, Mycroft and Lucy cooked a simple spaghetti Bolognese with a side salad for dinner. She didn't eat a lot, but Mycroft was just pleased that she had attempted to eat as much as she could. For the most part she had been fairly distracted from wanted to self harm, but the itch to do it was still there. She pushed it to the back of her mind, she would try and find a razor or something later.

"How long will I be here for do you know?" Lucy asked as she sipped her glass of white wine.

"I'm not too sure," Mycroft answered, "Sherlock thought it would probably be for at least two if not three days. Depends how long it takes to catch the man."

"Okay." Lucy nodded.

"Is that alright?" Mycroft looked concerned. "I know I'm probably not your first choice of person to be with."

"No it's more than alright Mycroft." She smiled. "I actually really like being with you."

"I'm glad," he smiled.

As soon as they had finished dinner, they retired to the living room. They spent time playing Operation, which was a game that Lucy could finally beat Mycroft at. They watched a bit of tv, but Mycroft ended up criticising all the contestants on the show- a trait that the two Holmes' brothers seemed to share. By the end of the evening Lucy was already yawning. She was exhausted from spending half of the day crying. She had been scratching at her arms now and then, unable to do any damage because of the bandages protecting the cuts, but she still felt the irresistible urge.

"Do you want to get some sleep?" Mycroft asked knowingly.

"Yeah I'm pretty tired."

"As am I." He studied her facial expression. He knew it was definitely a danger night but he didn't quite know what to do. Lucy stood up hesitantly, feeling very awkward and uncomfortable. She wasn't as comfortable around Mycroft as she was with Sherlock. But she took a deep breath and asked:

"Is it okay if I…" She paused, feeling like a little kid, "Umm, I mean, can I…" She shook her head in annoyance, but she was glad that the older Holmes' brother was very patient. "I don't think I can be alone tonight." She eventually said in a quiet whisper. "I don't trust myself and what I might do." She hated to admit her weakness, but she would be damned if she was to screw up even more in one day. Mycroft nodded in understanding and Lucy felt immediately relieved.

"I was going to ask myself," he admitted, "But I wasn't sure if that would be overstepping the mark, even though Sherlock asked me not to leave you alone for very long."

Lucy brushed her teeth and got ready for bed, she walked into Mycroft's room as the door was open to find him lying on top of the covers of the large double bed reading a book. He was wearing a t-shirt and jogging bottoms. Something she didn't think he actually owned. Awkwardly, she sat on the bed.

"Mycroft," She started, "I'm really sorry to keep imposing on you like this." He put his book down.

"You are not imposing, please stop apologising every time you come round," he smiled gently at her, "I do not mind you being with me okay? As long as you are comfortable. I just want to make sure you are safe. I've spent many danger nights with Sherlock before, and I would spend many bad nights with you too to make sure you are safe and well." He looked very serious. "Please stop worrying about me."

"Thank you," she said gratefully. It was strange, she had never seen this side of Mycroft before. She didn't even know he had such a kind and gentle side. But she wasn't about to question it. Feeling a little better, she got under the covers.

"Goodnight Lucy," Mycroft said quietly.

"G'night Mycroft," she mumbled, "You can sleep under the covers by the way."


	53. Chapter 53

Chapter 53

It was past midnight. The moon that shined in the pitch black sky illuminated the room ominously. It was silent, and very peaceful. It was warm, but not stiflingly so. Despite it being a calm and nice night, the teenager just couldn't seem to stay asleep. Sleep came and went, and she found herself awake throughout the night several times. The peace that the night promised eluded her. When she did close her eyes, she could only see images of her parents, of the men that attacked her and of Daniel. A quiet whimper escaped her lips. Feeling restless, and desperate for relief, Lucy quietly got out of bed. Glancing over, she was surprised to see that Mycroft had taken her advice and had slept under the covers. Not wanting to bother him further with her troubles, she tiptoed to the ensuite bathroom. It was large, not to her surprise, and had a big shower and a classic rectangular bathtub. She walked over to the sink and looked into the mirror above it. Lucy winced, her own reflection seeming foreign to her. The face that stared back was tired, and still looking tear streaked. Her hand curled into a fist, digging her nails into her palms. Needing the release and calmness of the blade, she went searching around the bathroom for a spare razor. Feeling frustrated at having no such luck, she wandered quietly back out into the bedroom and made her way to the kitchen. She was desperate, the need to cut was burning her skin. In the kitchen, she looked for anything that could cause some damage. But she couldn't even find a knife. She groaned in anger, knowing that Mycroft had probably tried to hide most of the sharp object in his house. Trying to remain calm, she walked into the hall and immediately spotted a glinting knife. Well, it wasn't a knife, it was a letter opener that was place carefully by the door on a table. It would do. She just wanted to take the edge off. Maybe a few small cuts, nothing big. Just something to make her mind and the cravings stop for a bit. She felt giddy as she tentatively picked up the letter opener. Touching the tip, she was pleased to find that it was pretty sharp. Lucy sank to the floor with a soft bump, her back against the wall. She felt a little dizzy. Her chest felt a bit too tight.

Why did she feel so much anxiety?

Surely she shouldn't be feeling nervous or anxious about this? It was basically a routine to her. And yet, a bubble of uncertainly was stuck in her chest. Trying to stop her breathing from getting too out of control, she took two slow deep breaths in and out. Carefully, she rolled up her sleeves, huffing unhappily at how much skin was covered by the bandages. She had to roll her sleeves past her elbow to find spare space on her forearm. With a slightly shaking hand, she placed the tip of the knife to her skin.

"Lucy, please stop." She startled as she heard Mycroft Holmes' voice. The letter opener slipped in her grasp and she caught her skin slightly as she tried to regain her composure. The cut was only superficial and barely bled, but it was a cut she hadn't intended on making. She glanced over to see Mycroft watching her with caution, worry evident in his blue eyes. Her chest became tighter and tears filled her eyes. She couldn't breathe. Her body felt numb. Still keeping a firm grip on her letter opener, she put her head in her shaking hands. The older Holmes brother made a slow move towards her.

"No!" She screamed, causing him to immediately halt. "Leave me alone." She choked out. She gasped, trying to breathe, feeling herself go very lightheaded and dizzy. Mycroft held his hands up, showing he meant no harm.

"Lucy, calm down, it's okay." He said soothingly, starting to move closer again. "Please drop that."

"No." She couldn't let go of the one thing that made her feel sane again. He was a few steps away. Too close. Too close. She shook her head and scrambled to her feet. She knew she wasn't in a right mind at all. Her legs buckled as she stood up too quickly. She was panicking, unable to breathe properly. Her limbs had gone numb. She collapsed to the ground with a thud, causing Mycroft to instantly hurry to her side. He knelt beside her, holding her wrists.

"Get off of me!" She said with panic.

"Lucy stop struggling and calm down," He said firmly.

"I feel like I'm going to die." She felt the tears trail down.

"You are having a panic attack I believe." He corrected her. "So you need to slow your breathing down. Deep breaths in for four seconds and out for four seconds." Awkwardly, he tried to do the motion of breathing for her and she attempted to copy. Her limbs were shaking, but she felt she had more control over her breathing. Eventually, once she had stopped struggling and panicking as much, Mycroft let go of her wrists. He glanced over her arms, at the scars that littered the skin and the bandages that hid more. He put a hand on her knee.

"Please don't touch me." Lucy said shakily, trying her best to keep her voice steady through the tears.

"There's no need to be embarrassed." Mycroft murmured, apparently reading her mind. But he withdrew his hand anyway. "It's been a while since I had to do that." He said thoughtfully, breaking the tense silence.

"What?"

"Sherlock has had a few panic attacks before." Mycroft shrugged, but he didn't explain any further. They were silent as Lucy still tried to get a handle on controlling her breathing, coming down from the panic that once overwhelmed her. After a few moments, Mycroft looked at the letter opener that Lucy still held onto for dear life. "Can I have that please?"

"No." Lucy kept her voice steady, refusing to look at him. "You hid everything else. You don't trust me." She said bitterly, remembering how she couldn't find any knives.

"And I was right to." He said pointedly but gently. "I did not want to risk you hurting yourself. Unfortunately, I didn't really consider the letter opener." He looked guilty. Mycroft sighed and look at Lucy's eyes. "It's not that I do not trust you. I just did not want this to happen, especially after today." Lucy eventually looked up at him. He was sitting in front of her, probably uncomfortable, but he didn't seem to care. His eyes were filled with worry, and she was surprised to see that there was no trace of anger on his face.

"I know." Was all she said.

"Can I have it back then?" His voice was firmer, but still gentle.

"I can't…" Lucy bit her lip. Mycroft observed her, seeing a conflicting array of emotions flicker across her young face. She was looking intently at the weapon in her hand, and he could see the desire in her eyes. The need to use it. It pained him to see her this way. With a very tentative and deliberately slow hand, he reached to take her free hand, holding it in his own. He saw her tense, but relax as he gently ran his thumb over the back of her hand. Mycroft Holmes did not particularly like showing much emotion. But when it came to his family, he often found himself being far more emotional than he preferred. And Lucy was now family.

"Could you try to wait?" He asked.

"It doesn't feel like I can." She whispered, clutching tighter at the letter opener, her knuckles turning white. Mycroft felt a wave of sympathy. She reminded him so much of when Sherlock had his bad days, except she was slightly more willing to be with the older Holmes brother.

"Come on," he stood up, wincing from where he had awkwardly sat on the hard floor for so long. She looked up at him quizzically. "We're going to have some tea and put a film on." He explained, offering her a hand. She hesitated, but took his hand and got up slowly, pausing to shake off the dizzy feeling. Mycroft led her by the hand into the kitchen where he made them both tea before they sat on the sofa side by side in the living room, with Harry Potter on in the background.

"How come you woke up?" Lucy asked.

"I'm a light sleeper."

"I'm sorry, it's so late." Lucy looked very guilty at having woken him up so early.

"No matter." Mycroft reassured her, "I would rather be awake at this time to help you than be asleep while you hurt yourself." They were silent, drinking their tea and watching the film, although Mycroft was paying more attention to the teenager and how she was feeling. Eventually, he saw her place the letter opener on the table in front of them. The corners of his mouth twitched up in a smile.

"I'm not strong enough, Mycroft." She sighed. "I can't control the urges."

"You just have to take it one day at a time." He said softly. Suddenly, Lucy shuffled closer to him and leaned against his shoulder. He was hesitant but wrapped his arm around her in a hug.

"Sherlock would be impressed with how affectionate you are." Lucy said, trying to lighten the mood.

"I'd rather he did not know." Mycroft had raised an eyebrow. "I do not often show such… obvious forms of affection or the sort."

"Nah you're more the kidnap and threaten them type," Lucy smirked. "And care from a distance by rigging the flat with cameras."

"Well I do not think Sherlock would want a hug from me of all people." Mycroft huffed out a laugh.

"Thank you Mycroft." She whispered, feeling her eyes getting heavy. "And I know you hate me apologising but I am sorry for this."

"It's quite alright." Mycroft said. He let her fall asleep on him for the night, not wanting to disturb her by moving.

It was around 8 o'clock when Mycroft awoke. The time was far later than he usually awoke, but it had been a hectic night. Seeing that Lucy was still fast asleep, he gently manoeuvred her off of him so he could get up and lay her down on the sofa. He stretched, feeling his joints protest at how he had slept, but not caring about it too much. Mycroft made his way into the kitchen and set about making tea and breakfast. While he was waiting for the bread to toast, he texted Sherlock to keep him updated on how Lucy was, as per his request.

'Lucy had a bad night, but I stopped her from self-harming. -MH'

He immediately got a reply.

'Thank you. How is she now? -SH'

'Asleep, but I will ensure as well as I can that she will be okay. -MH'

'Good. We cannot find any trace of the killer. Keep her away from London. -SH'

Mycroft sighed, slightly angered that the boy had not been arrested yet. He had his surveillance keeping an eye out as well, but he just wanted the whole ordeal to be over and done with for Lucy's sake.

"Morning Mycroft." Lucy said sleepily as she shuffled into the kitchen.

"Good morning Lucy, how did you sleep?"

"I didn't mean to fall asleep on the sofa," she sighed, but smiled, "But I slept better than before."

Mycroft served them tea and breakfast. He had to almost force the teenager to eat just one slice of toast with a meagre spreading of butter. She was struggling. He knew that she didn't tend to eat much when she was stressed, anxious or nervous. He didn't force her to eat too much, just enough to keep her strength up. Afterwards, Lucy went to have a shower leaving Mycroft time to get changed into a shirt and trousers. He was reading his book in the living room when she came in, all fresh and dressed.

"What would you like to do today?" Mycroft asked, looking up from his book.

"Have you heard from Sherlock?" She ignored his question. The older Holmes brother sighed and put down his book.

"I have," he started as she sat down beside him on the sofa, "They are yet to be able to track the killer." He saw Lucy's face fall. Mycroft continued: "Scotland Yard's finest are doing their best, as are my people. Do not fret, I'm sure he will be found soon." She nodded, biting at her lip.

"Can we go out somewhere?" She asked nervously.

"We cannot go to London, it isn't safe." Mycroft informed her. "At least, right now it is not advisable." He paused, in thought. "We could always go somewhere outside of London? What is it you wished to do?"

"Umm," Lucy jiggled her leg anxiously. "I'm honestly not sure. I just don't think I can deal with being stuck inside all day." Mycroft nodded his head in understanding.

"We could always go to a park?" He suggested. He obviously was not the sort to frequent such places, but he wanted to make a small effort to accommodate the teenager.

"Yeah that might be nice."

An hour later, they found themselves in the back of Mycroft's posh black car. His personal driver was taking them just outside of London to a local country park. Another man was sat in the front of the car next to the driver. Mycroft informed Lucy that he was just for protection should anything go wrong, not that this eased her worries though.

The country park seemed endless. The green grassy fields seeming to go on and on with no signs of stopping. Trees outline the edges, leading into thick clumps of wooded areas. At the entrance was a children's playground, several young kids were screaming, running around and having fun. Lucy and Mycroft walked for a while, following the concrete path as it winded its way along the fields and through the long grass. For the most part they stayed quiet, neither needing to speak. Mycroft looked slightly out of place in his fancy suit, but he obviously didn't care, instead, both him and the teenager were just enjoying the rare sunshine of England that beamed down upon them. Now and then, they would see other people, sometimes couples and sometimes people with their dogs, but they were mostly on their own.

"Do you think they will find Daniel soon?" Lucy suddenly asked as they stopped to sit down at one of the benches for a break.

"I am sure he will be apprehended shortly." Mycroft said. "Please stop worrying about him, he can do you no more harm."

"I know," Lucy ran a hand through her hair, "But it still shook me up. I mean, he had no reason to do what he did. He just said it was fun."

"There are some very twisted people in this world unfortunately."

"And I seem to have the luck of meeting them all." She laughed.

The trip to the park had seemed really simple, but to Lucy, it meant a lot. It was a moment of quiet to spend with someone she liked even though it felt like the world was falling down around her. For most of the day, she hadn't felt the urge to destroy her own skin, which made a nice changed for once. But she found that her appetite was really lacking, much to Mycroft's concern. He tried to get her to eat even a little bit of toast for dinner when they got back to his home, but she found that the thought of food made her stomach turn.

"You need to eat something; you've barely had anything all day." Mycroft raised his eyebrows as she declined any food he could think of offering.

"I can't." She shook her head. "The thought of eating is making me feel sick." Mycroft seemed uncertain, but didn't force the issue too much, after all, she had been eating fairly well beforehand so he didn't see any need to overly worry.

"Oh, I do have something for you though." He said as he grabbed a file from the side. He handed it over to her. Lucy opened it up curiously.

"Lucy Holmes." She said, shocked.

"Yes your new name."

"I didn't expect…" She bit her lip in disbelief.

"I can always change it again if you would prefer…"

"No!" She stopped him after seeing his face look suddenly uncertain. "I just didn't expect to have yours and Sherlock's last name."

"Well, it was what sprung to mind considering you live with my brother." Mycroft said as he sat down opposite her at the kitchen table. "If you want the specifics, you are mine and Sherlock's orphaned cousin and we have agreed to take custody."

"Thank you," Lucy said, feeling overwhelmed. "Feels like I'm almost part of the family."

"You are part of the family." Mycroft corrected her. "Just wait until you meet mine and Sherlock's parents. They should be coming down once this case is resolved."

That night, they hadn't heard from Sherlock, other than him sending a text letting them know that they thought they were getting closer to catching him. But it didn't matter, Lucy was just glad to be safe, for now at least.


	54. Chapter 54

Chapter 54

Mycroft Holmes was relieved. Lucy had managed to sleep through the night without any trouble. Not once during the evening did she mention or seem like she wanted to self harm- and Mycroft knew that for her it was a big step. In the morning, he left her to have a shower and get ready while he made toast. The older Holmes brother was just glad that work had not yet needed him, it meant that he could have a break as well as spend time with Lucy.

The teenager was very quiet and did not speak as she drank some tea, ignoring the toast.

"You need to eat," Mycroft said, pointing at the food, "you barely ate yesterday."

"I'm really not hungry." She shook her head. Mycroft was tight lipped. He knew she had often struggled with her eating, but she had gotten better with it as of late.

"Eat." He said softly as he buttered a slice of toast for her and put it on her plate. Rather reluctantly, she took a bite, knowing he would eventually be more forceful. Taking the time to chew, she glared at Mycroft, clearly not in a good mood.

"Look at me like that all you want, but it won't change the fact you have to eat to stay healthy." He raised his eyebrows at her.

"It's making me feel sick," she wrinkled her nose. At that he paused.

"Are you not feeling well?"

"Not particularly," she shrugged.

"It is probably stress." Mycroft said gently. She took another small bite of her toast before putting it down. At this point, Mycroft's phone went off with a text. He looked at it, rolling his eyes in annoyance.

"Oh for goodness sake," He muttered, "Clearly the country cannot last a few days without me."

"Work?" Lucy asked.

"Unfortunately." He ran a hand over his face. "It should not take too long to deal with. I'm sorry Lucy, I'll have to leave you alone for a bit." He sighed. "I'll be in my office, it's in the basement. I have some phone calls to make and such." He stood up, clearly frustrated.

"I can survive on my own for a bit." She mumbled. Mycroft looked uncertain.

"If you need anything," he started carefully, "If you have any… urges. Please feel free to knock."

"Okay." She agreed just to stop him from worrying. He looked at her one last time before hurriedly making his way to his office. The teenager sighed, rubbing her forehead in a feeble attempt to quell the headache that was throbbing in her skull. She looked down at her half eaten toast, feeling disgusted with herself. Standing up on wobbly legs, she made her way slowly to the bathroom.

It had been ages since she had done this to herself. But she felt the need to do it. It was not a craving as such, it was not as irresistible as the need to cut her own body. And yet, it still played on her mind. She needed the control it gave her. After all that had happened, after being unable to change her own situation or the things that happened to her, she felt the need to be in control. And one thing she could at least try to control, was food. Feeling uncomfortable, she knelt before the toilet, the saliva clogging her mouth from the anticipation. Brushing her hair out of her face, she slowly brought two of her fingers to her lips before shoving them in.

She gagged. But it wasn't enough. She tried again and again. The gagging noises becoming more violent. Eventually, her stomach churned and her meagre breakfast was brought up. She coughed and leaned back, feeling the bile coat her mouth and the god awful taste linger on her tongue. Standing up on even shakier legs, she flushed the toilet and grabbed her toothbrush, cleaning her teeth and any remains of her act. After she had made herself throw up, she always felt guilty. There was always that pang of regret, it made her feel more sick. But the teenager could not exactly cut easily at Mycroft's, besides, if it made her feel better then what was the harm? She knew she was being stupid, but she was past the point of caring. Feeling dizzy, she made her way into the living room, rubbing her eyes as her head relentlessly throbbed. She felt tired. Her body felt exhausted. She closed her eyes and fell asleep on the sofa.

The teenager awoke to find a hand on her forehead. Opening her eyes blearily, she found herself looking at Mycroft. He removed his hand from her forehead.

"Mycroft?" Lucy mumbled out his name.

"You do not look well at all," he was frowning.

"You're meant to be working," she said slowly.

"I finished working," he said, "You must have been asleep for about three hours."

"Three hours?" She looked surprised. Lucy winced, rubbing again at her head. It was pounding.

"Yes," Mycroft said. "You look very pale, have you not had anything to eat or drink?" She looked at him and he knew the answer, he looked back at her, worried. He sighed, "Maybe I should call John."

"No!" Lucy refused, sitting up straight and trying to stand on shaky legs that felt like jelly. She felt so dizzy. Her hand pressed into her eyes, trying to stop the feeling of wanting to be sick again. The teenager's legs buckled. There was a ringing in her ears and her whole body felt weak.

"Lucy?" Mycroft asked cautiously, but she barely heard him. His voice sounded like a fuzzy radio. She sat down on the floor and Mycroft knelt down, repeating her name and asking her questions but she wasn't paying attention. Her head thudded slightly against the floor as she fainted.

Mycroft looked at the girl in worry as she fainted. He was not quite sure what to do for the best. Quickly, he checked her head for any bump or bleeding from the impact, but he was glad to see none. From there, he put her onto her side into the recovery position. He knew she hadn't looked well, but he thought it may be from stress. Instead, she looked pale and sick. Pulling out his phone he made a quick call to John, asking him to come over as soon as possible as it was of the upmost urgency. Mycroft sent a car to pick John up while fetching a glass of water for Lucy before going back, waiting for Lucy to wake up.

What was only a couple of minutes later, Lucy slowly started to awaken. She felt a cold sheen of sweat over her body, and her mind felt thick with fog. Blinking in confusion, she felt a firm hand on her shoulder, keeping her pressed onto the floor. Vaguely she was aware of her hair being brushed away from her damp forehead. She knew she must have looked a state. Attempting to try and get up, she resisted the hand that held her, but it was to no avail. Her body was too weak to fight back right now.

"Just stay there Lucy, you are safe." Mycroft's voice said softly. Her gaze moved to settle on his face. It was a few moments later when John Watson walked in, looking very concerned.

"Lucy!" He gasped when he saw her, instantly going to her and kneeling beside Mycroft to examine her.

"Thank you for coming John." Mycroft said politely.

"What happened?" He asked as he checked her pulse and temperature.

"She fainted." Mycroft said, keeping a neutral face.

"You don't look particularly well Lucy," John sighed, "Have you had anything to eat or drink?" Lucy just blinked up at him, still making sense of the world after only just having woken up. Mycroft answered instead:

"She's barely eaten anything lately, I thought it was stress."

"It might be," John agreed. "Having too little food or water can cause a fainting spell." He paused, looking her over. "It may even be dehydration."

"Is there anything we can do?" Mycroft asked.

"Drink plenty of fluids. If possible, have fruit juice to replenish any lost sugar and nutrition. If you're feeling too sick Lucy, I'd suggest drinking little and often." He ran a hand through his greying hair, "I'm just glad it's not too serious." John smiled at Lucy and she returned the smile.

"Thank you John," Lucy mumbled, "I'm sorry."

"No need to apologise." He shook his head. "You just need to eat." He looked at her with concern but he was deadly serious. "I know you may… struggle sometimes with eating but you really need to try as hard as you can okay?" He sighed.

"I'll try," she whispered, embarrassed that John knew what was going on in her mind. There was a pause in which she shakily got into a sitting position and took a small sip of water. "How's the investigation going?" She asked, hopeful.

"Well," John looked between her and the older Holmes brother, "We have managed to capture some CCTV footage. He got clumsy. Until now he has managed to avoid a lot of CCTV, but he was following what we assume was another victim and we have a rough idea where he is going."

"So you think you will catch him soon?"

"Sherlock is very sure of himself."

"When isn't he," Lucy smirked.

After ensuring that Lucy was not going to faint again, John left them to get back to Sherlock and Mary. Lucy had felt sad that he had to go, she missed being with Sherlock and John and Mary. She missed how it used to be. But deep down, the teenager knew that it would definitely not be good for her mental health to continue with such cases all the time. She hated it, but it was something she had to accept. At least she was not stuck home alone constantly to her own destructive thoughts. In that sense, Mycroft was a blessing allowing her to stay with him. He was so accommodating that she felt bad that she was imposing on him a lot as of late.

"You're over thinking." Mycroft raised his eyebrows at her as he passed her the glass of water for her to take a sip from.

"Sorry," She sighed. He frowned at her, not knowing what to do or say to make her feel better. Lucy looked at him and smiled, "You've done so much for me and I'm really grateful."

"Oh, it is no trouble." He shrugged. He looked at her carefully. "Are you up to eating anything?"

"Not really," she murmured, not meeting his eyes.

"Is everything… okay?" He seemed surprisingly unsure how to word what he wanted to say.

"Uh," she looked back up at him. "I'm… fine?" She answered, but it was more of a question in that she was not sure what kind of answer he was looking for. Mycroft gave her a half smile, but did not push further.

The day had gone by quickly. Lucy had not been up for doing much, so her and Mycroft spent the time reading in silence, sometimes playing a game or two of Cluedo. She refused to eat, her stomach turning horribly at the thought, but she drank plenty of orange juice. Mycroft eventually forced her to at least try to eat some fruit, but she could barely get through half an apple without feeling sick. He realised that she might actually not be feeling well, so he did not force her any further in case he made her feel even worse. After having a headache for most of the day, Lucy had fallen asleep on the sofa next to Mycroft before it was even 7 o'clock in the evening. Mycroft felt his phone vibrate and looked at it to see Sherlock calling him which did not often happen. Immediately he answered the phone and went through to the kitchen.

"Sherlock," he said by way of greeting.

"We've got him." His brother instantly informed him, not bothering with pleasantries.

"Ah, excellent, I'm sure Lucy will be pleased." Mycroft was happy that this whole ordeal would be over for Lucy.

"Of course." Came Sherlock's snarky reply.

"You wouldn't have called just for this." Mycroft frowned.

"No," Sherlock started, "I do not want Lucy to have to go through court to testify as a witness."

"She will not have to." Mycroft's voice instantly turned dangerous, agreeing with his brother. "I shall see to it that he will be… away for quite a while."

"Good." Was all Sherlock said.

"Shall I send Lucy back to Baker Street tomorrow morning?"

"Yes that's fine." Sherlock was clearly bored of talking to his brother by now.

"Very well. And I will get about to contacting mummy and daddy." Mycroft smirked as he heard Sherlock groan in annoyance before hanging up the phone. The older Holmes brother smiled, pleased with himself before grabbing a spare blanket and covering Lucy with it. He did not wish to disturb her. She slept through the night, clearly tired from not feeling well all day. But Mycroft was just glad that the case was resolved fairly quickly. He sent texts to the necessary people with tight lips and a furrowed brow. That way, the boy would never be able to hurt Lucy, or anyone else, again.


	55. Chapter 55

Chapter 55

Another bite of toast was forced down her throat the next morning. She wrinkled her nose in disgust, not enjoying the taste of the crispy bread and butter. A big gulp of water washed down the food.

"Why do you do it?" Lucy looked up in shock at the question. She saw Mycroft's thoughtful face marred by a slight frown. The teenager knew what he was talking about, but she hadn't expected him to ask so suddenly and out of the blue.

"Umm," she swallowed her toast, meeting his steady gaze. Truthfully, she had absolutely no idea what to say. "That's quite a hard question to answer." She admitted. The older Holmes brother nodded in understanding and gave her time to think. Eventually, Lucy took a deep breath and slowly started: "I guess it calms me." She frowned at her own answer. "It makes the world stop going so fast, it slows my mind from overpowering me. It makes me feel so much better."

"Do you not feel the pain?" His questions were getting harder and more personal. But she knew he just wanted to understand, he wasn't trying to be nosy.

"Of course I do, that's the point." She furrowed her eyebrows. "I need the pain to feel something. I need it to override the sadness or whatever feeling I want to get rid of." Feeling overwhelmed, she rubbed at her forehead. "Sorry Mycroft, questions about self harm are normally pretty hard to answer." A wry smile played on her lips.

"My apologies," he sipped some tea. "I just wished to try and understand." But he smiled at her and changed the topic, not wishing to cause her any discomfort. "Are you looking forward to going back to Baker Street?"

"Definitely," she smiled properly now. "I've missed being with Sherlock, and I'm just glad that we should hopefully have no trouble for a little bit." But she paused, "I will miss you though." There was a pause and Lucy eventually looked up to see Mycroft's extremely surprised face. She laughed at him, at his shock and confusion. "I do like you Mycroft, you idiot."

"Well," his face relaxed, "I'm not often told that by people. Especially after they've spent time with my brother." He smiled, "I will miss you too. But you are of course, welcome here any time. Just text or call me should you need me."

"Thank you Mycroft." Lucy grinned as she went over to hug him, despite him stiffening upon feeling the contact.

Back at Baker Street, Lucy was pleasantly surprised to see John, Mary and Sherlock all sat in the front room in what appeared to be an intense discussion. John and Mary greeted Lucy with happiness and warm hugs. Sherlock awkwardly stood up and Lucy bounded over to wrap him in a tight embrace.

"So what are you guys doing?" Lucy asked.

"Trying to plan the wedding," Mary said with a smirk.

"Have you gotten far?"

"I wish," Mary laughed. She paused, "Can we go to the kitchen?" She asked the teenager, practically dragging her through and closing the door behind them.

"Is everything okay?" Lucy asked, now concerned.

"Of course," Mary bit her lip, practically bouncing with excitement. "Will you be one of my bridesmaids?"

"Oh my gosh!" Lucy screamed, "Are you serious?" Mary nodded and Lucy flung her arms around the blonde haired woman in a hug. "Oh wow, thank you Mary! I can't wait."

Together, the four of them decided on lilac dresses for the bridesmaids as well as potentially having yellow and pink flowers. But of course, Mary and John were still undecided. Sherlock was sat in the kitchen, staring at something under a microscope, clearly fed up with the bickering between everyone deciding on particular colours. After a while, Lucy came and sat next to him.

"I'm surprised you aren't at work." Lucy murmured.

"They don't need me down at the Yard just yet," Sherlock mumbled without looking up at her. "Besides, the case is all wrapped up."

"So quickly?" Lucy frowned. She was sure there was more involved to prosecute a criminal. Sherlock hesitated, and he eventually tore his eyes away from whatever experiment he was now doing to fix his blue-green eyed gaze on the teenager.

"Mycroft has made sure that he is dealt with accordingly. I don't think the world needs to worry about that man anymore. No court case is needed, not when my brother can meddle with it." Sherlock watched Lucy to gauge her reaction. She just frowned slightly and bit her lip.

"That makes… sense." She sighed, "So he really is basically the British Government, he can practically do anything." Sherlock smirked at this and nodded his head in agreement.

"He is a dangerous man when he wants to be," the detective mumbled, "But he is still an annoying big brother." He suddenly sighed dramatically, "Speaking of which, my parents will be round in two days." He wrinkled his nose, clearly not pleased, "They seem eager to see everyone for some reason. Especially you."

"Me?"

"Unfortunately you will be subjected to them. You are now part of the family according to your new last name so you have to suffer with me." Sherlock smirked, Lucy just laughed at him. For a while, Lucy and Sherlock Holmes sat in silence. The teenager watched him with fascination as he experimented on various parts of the human body with all kinds of probably very dangerous chemicals and substances. John and Mary bid them goodbye, leaving to go wedding cake tasting. In the evening, the two flatmates ordered in Chinese food, Lucy didn't stuff her face but she didn't want to worry Sherlock after not seeing him for a while so she ate as much sweet and sour chicken as she could without feeling sick.

That night she slept soundly.

The next day she awoke to hear banging coming from the kitchen. A loud crash startled her out of her sleepy state and she immediately got dressed. Out in the kitchen, Sherlock Holmes was throwing around various dishes and anything he could get his hands on. John was sat on his chair in the living room seemingly ignoring the detective.

"What on earth is going on?" Lucy shouted, laughing.

"I'm bored!" Sherlock yelled back.

"Good morning Lucy," John said calmly as he stood up and smiled at her. "I would make you tea but… well the kettle is somewhere on the floor." She just laughed at him.

"Where's Mary?" The teenager asked.

"Out shopping for wedding stuff with her friends." John smiled, "I'm taking a break from it all." Suddenly, a pot came flying past John's face to crash just behind him. "For goodness sake Sherlock bloody Holmes would you stop it!" He roared at his friend. Sherlock stopped his actions, looking at John like a kicked puppy. He jutted his bottom lip out and sat on the floor, sulking.

"What is with him?" Lucy went closer to John to whisper to him.

"Lestrade hasn't given him any cases to do." John muttered. "Which is good because it means there's no ridiculously gruesome murder happening. But it's bad for us because of this grumpy git going off the rails."

"I'm bored." Sherlock grumbled from the kitchen, sighing dramatically.

"Tell you what Sherlock, why don't you make yourself useful and clean all this up. Me and Lucy will go out shopping because there's nothing to eat or drink in here, so this place better look perfect by the time we get back." John said pointedly.

Lucy and John went shopping to the local convenience store, having discovered that all of the milk and bread was extremely out of date. They picked up all the basic groceries as well as some pasta and easy to cook food. They'd stayed out to have a sandwich and a coffee, not wanting to return to the bomb site that was their flat just yet. The teenager enjoyed it, it had been a while since her and John had had a catch up. They mostly discussed the wedding and how Sherlock's parents were coming down, both laughing at what Mr and Mrs Holmes may be like and if they'd be worse than Sherlock. Eventually, they made their way back to 221B Baker Street.

The flat was deadly silent for a change. But as soon as they had ascended the stairs, they found out why. Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes were sat facing each other, apparently having a stare off.

"Hi guys," Lucy greeted cheerfully as John went into the surprisingly clean kitchen to unload the shopping.

"I'm impressed Sherlock," John called out.

"Lovely to see you again Lucy," Mycroft smiled at her, breaking eye contact with his sibling who refused to stop glaring at him.

"Any reason you're round?" She asked him as she plopped down onto the sofa.

"Trying to convince my dear brother to engage socially with our parents." Mycroft sighed, "It seems as though Sherlock does not wish to go see Les Miserables with them though. They will be terribly disappointed."

"Tough." Sherlock snapped, still not blinking.

"Oh brother dear do stop these childish games," Mycroft rolled his eyes. "I've already booked four tickets for us all to go and see it."

"What a shame." Sherlock finally leaned back in his seat, narrowing his eyes at his older brother.

"You will have to see our parents."

"I wish I didn't." The detective huffed. "If you're that worried about the other ticket, just sell it or something."

"For goodness sake Sherlock," Mycroft sighed, but he knew he was fighting a losing battle. Instead, he turned to the teenager. "Lucy, how would you like to go to see Les Miserables with us?"

"I'd be delighted." Lucy grinned, having wanted to see the show for a while. Mycroft smiled happily at her, but raised an eyebrow pointedly at his brother.

"At least there is a grown up in this flat." He smirked. "Mummy and daddy will be most pleased that you will come." Mycroft said to Lucy. "We have the best seats in the theatre."

"Of course." Sherlock rolled his eyes and mumbled sarcastically.

"Well I best be off then," Mycroft stood up, grabbing his umbrella.

"Oh good," Sherlock finally smiled. Mycroft bid everyone goodbye before taking his leave. As soon as the door shut, Sherlock's whole posture relaxed.

"I know you love him really," Lucy laughed at Sherlock.

"Shut up." Sherlock glared at her but gave her a warm smile.

"They both act like children," John muttered as he took his normal seat, "Mycroft just tries to act a bit posher."

The next day passed relatively quickly. Sherlock had just been solving cold cases for Lestrade, moaning that they were too easy. But he let Lucy try a few of the cases and much to his surprise, she was pretty good at some of them. The teenager hadn't eaten much the past few days. She felt quite weak to tell the truth. Anything she had eaten was in meagre amounts to keep Sherlock and John happy, because she knew they would still be checking up on her. The hunger pains in her stomach had kept her thoughts off of self harm for a while. She hadn't cut in a couple of days, much to her own surprise. But the unrelenting hunger kept her sane for a while.

On the day that Sherlock's parents were coming down, she went out shopping in London. Sherlock had let her out on her own, albeit reluctantly, but they both knew that Mycroft's people would be keeping an eye on her. She was after some nice clothes to wear to the theatre the next night. Sherlock's parents were coming down late afternoon and so they would all have dinner out together, then the next day they would be going to a matinee of Les Miserables. So Lucy wanted to look presentable for the theatre, rather than just go in skinny jeans and a band top.

It had been a little while since she had been in a busy shopping centre on her own. So many people were swarming around her, bustling past her, bumping into her body as the moved from shop to shop. She couldn't remember being on her own shopping so scary. The teenager was constantly feeling on edge. It felt like someone was waiting to harm her, to beat her, like before. She didn't feel safe on her own. And that was a first for her. After all those months she had spent on the street, all those days when she would run off just for some time around London on her own, she did not expect to be feeling unsafe and terrified. She knew it was irrational. But there was panic in the pit of her stomach. The teenager was stood still in the middle of the street, feeling the anxiety and panic well up inside her. It was started to overwhelm her body.

She was scared.


	56. Chapter 56

Chapter 56

The teenager gasped for breath, feeling dizzy and numb. Her heart felt like it was going to rip out of her chest. She felt out of control.

"Miss are you okay?" A stranger stopped by her, looking concerned.

"Fine!" She almost shouted, cringing away from his outreached arm. Feeling threatened, she turned and fled away from the busy street, trying to avoid looking at the startled looks from the public. Turning the corner into a deserted alley, she wrinkled her nose against the smell of bins. With her knees shaking uncontrollably, Lucy sunk to the dirty floor, feeling humiliated and panicked. A crisp packet rolled on the floor in the breeze, the crinkling sound of its plastic too much to bear listening too. It was all overwhelming. All the sounds all the feelings, she just wanted to be left alone in the quiet. Desperately she tried to control her breathing and stop the thumping in her chest. She didn't know what to do. The sound of a car door shutting made her bury her face in her arms, hoping no one could see her. Footsteps however, alerted her to the fact that someone had seen her. They came closer, avoiding the various litter on the floor and the small puddles that would splash up. She refused to look up even as the footsteps stopped directly in front of her.

"Slow down your breathing." She had never been more glad to hear the silky voice of Mycroft Holmes. Risking a peek, she looked up to find him crouching in front of her, but keeping a respectable distance. His umbrella kept him balanced to avoiding him touching the ground. Of course it was him, no one else would be so careful as to avoid all the litter and puddles just in case their clothes got the slightest bit dirty.

"What are you doing here?" She gasped out quietly, trying to control her breathing. He looked at her with amusement.

"I always know your whereabouts, but I did not think you would wish to be alone when this was happening in the middle of London." He said kindly. "My security alerted me and as I was not too far away I came." She just nodded and focussed on taking deep breaths in and out. The numbness was starting to fade from her body, her heartrate was slowing. Mycroft Holmes waited patiently. "I am however," he continued, "Surprised that you did not call or text Sherlock."

"I honestly couldn't think straight." She mumbled guiltily.

"Understandable," he nodded thoughtfully.

"Why did you not call or text Sherlock?" She queried. Mycroft's lips quirked up.

"I saw no immediate danger." He reasoned. "If you had no contacted him, then I was not sure if I should either." She nodded.

"I seem to be seeing you a lot as of late," Lucy smirked, trying to jokingly lighten the mood.

"My apologies."

"I'm glad to see you though." She bit her lip. "I was scared."

"What of?" He asked as he helped her to her feet. She sighed.

"There were so many people," she felt stupid, "I just felt so on edge, like someone was going to hurt me." She risked a glance at his face to see it was neutral as per usual. "I know it's irrational, but after everything that's happened, I just struggled more than I realised I would. And it's frustrating because I don't want to feel scared when I go out on my own."

"I understand." Mycroft said gently after a moment of silence.

"I need to finish shopping though." Lucy hurriedly changed the subject, not wanting to dwell on her fears.

"What for?"

"I need nice clothes for tomorrow." She mumbled, embarrassed.

"No need to dress up too much," Mycroft smiled with amusement. "It is only my parents."

"I want to make a good impression so I'm going out to get nice skinny fit trousers and a new plaid shirt." Lucy crossed her arms. He quirked an eyebrow at her but smiled.

"Would you like me to stay with you or do you wish to be alone?" He queried after checking his mobile quickly.

"Stay for a bit please?" She asked in a small voice.

It was almost funny watching Mycroft walk with Lucy through several high street clothing stores. These were clearly not places he frequented, and he did not look particularly enthralled with them either. But he approved of the clothes she had selected to get for the theatre and refused to let her pay for them. Soon after, he dropped Lucy off at Baker Street. He did not get out of the car as he had work to do but he said he would see her at the restaurant later. With the shopping bags in hand, she trudged up the stairs to the flat.

"Why were you in Mycroft's car?" Sherlock immediately asked from his place by the window before she had barely gotten through the door.

"Nice to see you too Sherlock." She muttered. He just rolled his eyes at her and stayed silent, waiting for an answer. She sighed in defeat, "If you must know I got a bit panicky earlier and he came to make sure I was alright."

"He's going soft in his old age." Sherlock snorted with disdain. "Are you okay though?"

"I'm fine, I'm just glad he came."

"Stop liking my brother." The detective looked annoyed.

"Aww are you jealous?" She teased. He refused to look at her and instead, slumped into his chair.

"You can text me if you need me to come for you." He mumbled.

"Definitely jealous." She laughed. "Sorry Sherlock I wasn't really able to think properly, I was just lucky Mycroft found me and helped me." He narrowed his eyes but understood her anyway. The teenager left him to go put her bags on her bed. When she came back the detective had picked up his phone, scrolling through it and apparently sending messages. He looked bored. "Do you have any cases?" Lucy asked conversationally as she sat on the sofa.

"No." He sounded agitated. "Lestrade has been giving me cold cases. My dear brother has apparently given him strict orders to not give me anything to do that may interfere with me seeing my parents." He sounded incredibly bitter at his brother. "Cold cases are so dull. Even John could solve them." She just laughed at him and turned the tv on, forcing the consulting detective to watch reruns of Doctor Who.

Later on, Lucy took a shower and got dressed in her new trousers and a burgundy jumper. She put on a bit of makeup, making sure she looked presentable enough to meet Sherlock's parents. Nerves were beginning to take over as she walked into the living room to see Sherlock dressed in his usual suit with a plum coloured shirt.

"Stop worrying." He muttered as he took one look at her.

"Thanks." She narrowed her eyes. "That really helped." She was annoyed to see Sherlock smirk at her.

"My parents are honestly nothing to worry about." He raised his eyebrows. "Come on." He placed his hand on her back and together they went downstairs and hailed a cab to the restaurant. Unfortunately, John and Mary could not make it as they were busy wedding planning, much to Sherlock's disdain. When they got to the restaurant, Lucy was surprised to see how fancy it looked. Although, on reflection, she knew it was stupid to be surprised. After all, it was Mycroft that had booked the table and of course he would pick someone up market. Sherlock's family were already inside the restaurant, and after the waiter took their coats, he showed them over to a private booth.

There was a woman who looked in her fifties. She had white hair done up in a bun, a touch of makeup and she was dressed very stylishly in a flowy kind of pink top and black trousers. The man next to her also had white hair and was dressed up in a suit, he had a lopsided smile that looked strikingly similar to Sherlock's. The pair looked upper class and very refined. They stood up as Lucy and Sherlock approached, wide smiles on their faces. Sherlock immediately stepped forward to reluctantly accept a hug from his mother and father. Moving back, he said:

"Mum, dad, this is Lucy." He gestured awkwardly. "Lucy these are my parents, Wanda and Timothy Holmes."

"It's a pleasure to meet you Mr and Mrs Holmes." She smiled as Wanda pulled her into a hug.

"Oh please call us Wanda and Tim." She said in a kind but no nonsense voice. The teenager could tell that she could be a force to be reckoned with if the need arose, but that she was actually a warm and kind woman.

"It's lovely to meet you," Timothy bent down to hug and kiss her on the cheek. Mycroft had stood up by this point and after the greetings were over with he gestured for them all to sit. Lucy sat next to Sherlock and they were facing the others who were sitting across from them.

"Of course you had to pick a place where the names of the food are also pretentious sounding." Sherlock grumbled at his older brother. Mycroft didn't rise to the challenge as they all perused the menus.

"Now now Sherlock, behave." His mother chided. Sherlock just huffed but obeyed. Lucy raised her eyebrows at him in shock, startled that he had actually listened to someone and did as he was told. The detective noticed her look of surprise and just narrowed his eyes at her, clearly annoyed. Mycroft ordered them some fancy red wine that Lucy was sure she would never remember the name to. He ordered her a white wine instead, knowing that she probably wouldn't appreciate the red. Sherlock just rolled his eyes at the fanciness of the evening, clearly not amused with his brother's choices. But he reluctantly sipped the wine anyway.

"So Lucy, I hear you are now a part of our family." Wanda spoke to her.

"Yes, Mycroft had my name changed." She said, not really wanting to elaborate further.

"Well it's nice to see that Sherlock has someone to be with. He needs more friends and family that he stays in touch with." She looked at him pointedly.

"I think I already apologised that you had to meet my parents didn't I?" Sherlock muttered to Lucy, only loud enough so that she could hear. Lucy just giggled.

"Well it's just nice to be together as a family." Timothy said. Even Mycroft rolled his eyes at this. Lucy couldn't help but laugh.

They conversed throughout the meal. The food was delicious, but probably way too extravagant for Lucy and Sherlock, having gotten used to takeaways from the local Chinese. Lucy did her best to eat as much of her pasta as she could. But she could feel the tell-tale unsettled feeling in her stomach. They all had been discussing Sherlock's work and Mycroft's work- or what little he could tell about it. Lucy had spoken excitedly of her cases with Sherlock. It became apparent that Mycroft and Sherlock had told their parents not to ask too many questions about the teenager, because they asked about the teenager but never once asked about her parents or anything. She wasn't sure if they already knew what had happened, but she was just grateful that it wasn't brought up. By the end of the meal, Lucy was feeling a little sick. She looked down at her plate, seeing that almost all of her pasta was gone. Quickly, she excused herself from the table and headed towards the toilets. She was on her own. In the cubicle, she stared at the toilet. She stared for what seemed like an age. Her stomach churned, making her feel nauseated.

The teenager shifted uncomfortably. An internal debate racing through her mind. But she knew that this was not the time nor the place. Especially when Sherlock's parents were there. With a frustrated sigh and still feeling conflicted, she walked out of the toilets.

"Are you okay?" She jumped as she saw Sherlock waiting for her.

"I'm fine." She smiled weakly.

"You didn't do anything." It wasn't a question; he already knew the answer. She shook her head. Sherlock smiled slightly at her and wrapped his arms around her in a hug. Neither said anything. Instead, Sherlock just led her back to their table where Wanda and Timothy were glancing over the desert menu. It didn't escape Lucy's notice however, that Mycroft looked up at Sherlock expectantly, the younger Holmes just inclined his head slightly. As they sat down, Sherlock looked back at his brother.

"Try to limit yourself to a maximum of three deserts this time." The detective said.

"Sherlock I swear…" Mycroft wasn't even able to finish his sentence as he was quickly cut off by his mother's glare. The older Holmes brother just cleared his throat and smiled politely.

"I say, I hope they don't give you this much trouble Lucy." Wanda said.

"I'm used to it." Lucy grinned.

"Oh boys," Timothy shook his head, laughing.

"Don't encourage them." Wanda lightly smacked his arm. But she turned to Lucy, "They love each other really."

"No." Sherlock immediately said.

"You do." Lucy retorted. Sherlock glared at her and crossed his arms, sulking.

By the end of the meal, Mycroft refused to let anyone but himself pay. No one bothered arguing for long. Besides, Sherlock was more than happy to let his brother spend as much money as he could.

"Well it was lovely to meet you Lucy, we will see you tomorrow ready for the theatre!" Wanda hugged her goodbye before hugging her sons. Timothy followed suit before they were off in one of Mycroft's fancy cars to their hotel.

"Your parents are so…" Lucy laughed. Mycroft and Sherlock looked at her.

"What?" Sherlock frowned.

"They're normal!"

"Unfortunately so." Mycroft smirked.

"It is a cross I have to bear." Sherlock smiled at her.


	57. Chapter 57

It was early morning when Lucy had woken up. She’d gone through her normal routine of a shower, brushing her teeth, and getting changed. She tried to ignore the cuts on her arm as she took off the bandages and applied antiseptic onto the healing wounds. Just the sight of them made the urge reignite. But she couldn’t let anything to happen, especially not since she was going to be with Sherlock’s parents for most of the day. Lucy wasn’t sure how much Mycroft or Sherlock had told them about her, but she didn’t want to assume anything and had to be very careful. Deciding to leave the bandages off, she got changed into her new black, skinny trousers and the long sleeved dark blue plaid shirt- all of which Mycroft had bought her yesterday.

She looked into the mirror. The reflection that stared back at her was skinnier than before. A small, sick and twisted part of her smiled at her little thigh gap and flat stomach. She felt confident with her body for once. She still felt fat, but she was improving so much already. Her eyes looked bright and her hair was healthy. She felt healthy. Although a tiny part of her brain was telling her that this was not healthy. But she shook her head and instead went on to put on a bit of make-up.

Sherlock looked up with a raised eyebrow as she came into the kitchen. He looked her up and down, blinking once before looking back down at whatever new experiment he was doing.

“Satisfactory, am I?” Lucy joked.

“Hmm,” Sherlock hummed, not looking up from his experiment.

“What’s wrong?” She frowned and moved closer to him. Now he looked back up at her.

“There’s bread somewhere for breakfast.” He said without much enthusiasm.

“I’m not hungry thanks.” She replied. Sherlock kept his face blank. She sighed, realising what he was getting at. “Please don’t nag me to eat a ton of food.”

“I’m not,” Sherlock said sharply, narrowing his eyes. “I just don’t want you to make yourself ill.”

“I’m not ill.” She snapped.

“You’re getting bad again.” His voice was now gentle. “You know you can talk to me, John, Mycroft… anyone. Just please, think about what you’re doing.” He looked at her for a moment longer before turning on his Bunsen burner, effectively ending the conversation. Lucy sighed, annoyed, but knowing that he meant well just set about making them some tea instead.

At around 12:30, Mycroft entered the flat, earning a glare from his younger brother. Mycroft was dressed smartly as per usual, in his three piece dark grey suit with a white shirt and a red tie.

“Pleasure as always Sherlock.” He said sarcastically as he watched Sherlock place various powder covered sticks over the Bunsen burner, causing the fire to change colour.

“Unfortunately, Les Mis isn’t a production about cake Mycroft, so try not to be too disappointed.” Sherlock mumbled as he focussed on his experiment.

“How witty.” Mycroft sneered at him. He turned away from Sherlock to look at Lucy with a smile, “Ready to go Lucy?”

“I am.” She jumped up. “See you later Sherlock.” She went over to him to give him a quick hug, disrupting his experiment. He huffed in annoyance but leaned into her anyway.

“I would say have fun… but how much fun can you have with my family.” Sherlock muttered.

Lucy followed Mycroft down the stairs and out to where his usual black car was waiting. She giggled as he opened the door for her, ever the chivalrous man, before he joined her in the back.

“We’re meeting my parents at the theatre,” Mycroft informed her, “No doubt they are already there drinking all of the red wine.” Lucy laughed at him.

“Your parents are lovely.” She defended them. Mycroft simply just raised an eyebrow but passed no further comment on the matter. After a few moments, Lucy asked: “Are you looking forward to the play?” Mycroft sighed dramatically.

“I do not really think it will interest me,” He looked down at the umbrella in his right hand before looking back at the teenager. “I’m only going because mummy insisted.”

“I’m looking forward to it actually,” she smiled.

After around twenty minutes they arrived at the theatre and were immediately shown up to the bar, where Wanda and Timothy were sat in sofas sipping wine. They stood up and hugged Lucy and Mycroft in greeting.

“Would you like a drink Mikey?” Wanda asked. Lucy burst out laughing at Mycroft’s horrified expression.

“Mycroft,” He corrected with a sickly-sweet smile. “I’ll get us the drinks. White wine Lucy?”

“Am I allowed?” Lucy asked, “I’m only seventeen.”

“And I’m the British Government.” Mycroft smirked.

“Silly me.” Lucy grinned as he went off to order them drinks.

“Oh he’s such a show off that boy.” Wanda muttered fondly as they sat on the comfy chairs.

“I don’t know where he gets it from.” Tim winked at Lucy as Wanda gave him a good-natured glare.

Mycroft looked suspiciously at them all as they giggled upon his return. He gave them all their drinks before the doors to the auditorium opened. Of course, they got the best seats in the house, but that was no surprise. Wanda was practically bursting with excitement and was gushing to Lucy about all the theatre shows she had previously seen. Lucy was sat between Mycroft and Wanda, with Timothy sitting next to his wife. The seats were red, plush and soft. They could see the whole of the stage with ease, no doubt the tickets cost Mycroft hundreds, but it was worth it for the view.

A lot of people started to file in and Lucy quickly realised why she was sat between Mycroft and Wanda. The seats were all packed in tightly and as more spaces were filled, Lucy started to feel very cramped and trapped. She took deep breaths in through her nose and out through her mouth, trying to chase away the dizzy feeling in her head. Her knuckles were white as she had a death grip on her plastic cup of wine. She flinched as she felt a hand take her free hand. Looking up, she saw Mycroft studying her face with careful consideration. Hesitantly, she linked her fingers with his and held on to his soft hand. The feel of human contact helped to ground her. It made her feel safer and helped to chase away some of the anxiety. She gave him a weak smile. He smiled softly back, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. Lucy glanced awkwardly at the Holmes parents, relieved to find them talking to themselves and ignoring her and Mycroft.

“They know a little,” Mycroft whispered to her, explaining. “They’re just respecting that you need a little space.” He paused, “I hope you don’t mind but I thought it may be best to warn them if anything… happened.”

“I’m glad you mentioned it. It’s very kind of them, I’m sorry.” Lucy responded after a moment to regulate her breathing. Mycroft absentmindedly swirled his wine around his plastic wine glass.

“You don’t need to be sorry.” He said firmly but gently. Lucy smiled, gratefully and took a small sip of wine.

After a few minutes, Lucy had calmed down enough to realise that Wanda was flicking through the programme.

“Do you know any of the songs?” Lucy asked after she had been silent for a while.

“Oh I know most of them of course.” Wanda went to the song page, chatting as though nothing had happened to Lucy- for which she was very grateful. “Personally I’m looking forward to ‘Bring him Home’ and ‘One Day More.’” She smiled to herself, “Tim always mumbles to himself when I put the CD on, I sing along to some of the songs. He loves it really the daft man.” Her warm smiled made her eyes sparkle. It made Lucy feel happy. It gave her a warm feeling that she hadn’t felt for years. For the first time in ages, she felt like she had a proper family. Sherlock, John, Mary, Mycroft and mummy and daddy Holmes… they were all her family. She couldn’t help but grin to herself as the orchestra started to warm up.

“I’m really excited.” Lucy said, “I don’t think I’ve ever been to the theatre!”

“You’re in for a treat.” Mycroft muttered sarcastically to himself. It was times like that when he really reminded Lucy of Sherlock.

“Behave Myc.” Wanda said, rolling her eyes. Mycroft glared at her before smiling sweetly once more.

“Have they always been like this?” Lucy asked Tim.

“You should have seen them as teenagers!” He laughed. The lights started to dim.

“Hush now.” Mycroft mumbled to them all, glad that they had to be quiet now.


	58. Chapter 58

Chapter 58

The first half had been a huge success, gripping Lucy from the very start. Side glancing at Wanda Holmes, she could see how much the older lady was enjoying it. Wanda’s lips slightly mimed each song, a smile playing on her lips as her husband took her hand in his own, giving it a gentle squeeze as they glanced lovingly at each other. This is what a family is meant to be like, thought Lucy. They all applauded as the curtain closed for the half time break.

“I need another drink.” Mycroft immediately mumbled. He practically ran off to get them another round.

“Oh that boy,” Wanda laughed.

“I don’t think this is his cup of tea,” Tim remarked, his eyes sparkling in amusement.

“Well tough,” Wanda smirked. “Ooh sweets!” She suddenly exclaimed as she saw the theatre worker walking nearby with sweets and programmes. The lady stood up and purchased a couple of bags of wine gums. When she sat back down she handed a bag each to Tim and Lucy.

“Thank you,” Lucy smiled.

“Oh nonsense, it’s nice to treat you.” Wanda beamed, “You’re part of the family now!”

“Oh do I have to share?” Tim remarked jokingly.

“Yes, and you better not steal all my favourites!” Wanda raised an eyebrow at him before taking a sweet.

Mycroft returned with drinks for everyone, and raised his eyebrows as he saw his parents quarrelling over who kept eating all the black sweets. Wanting to please Wanda, Lucy had been nibbling slowly on several of the sweets. They were tasty and reminded her of her childhood. She wasn’t sure if it was a good or a bad thing, but as long as it didn’t make her sad, that was all that mattered. The teenager held the bag out to Mycroft and he looked at her before sighing in defeat and taking one.

“Are you okay?” He murmured quietly to her.

“I’m okay now, thanks,” she smiled. He nodded, just pleased to see her eating some sweets- albeit quite slowly.

The second half started and Lucy felt herself get lost in the music and acting and the world in which the stage brought to life. The barricade was an impressive piece of the set, and their seats gave them a perfect view of it. Not too long into the second act though, she heard the sound of a fake gunshot and saw the actor playing Gavroche fall to the floor. Even though she knew there would be deaths in this, she didn’t think it would affect her so much. She took a deep breath, trying to stop the imminent panic attack.

The gunshot kept replaying through her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut, only to be confronted with the memory of her parents ‘dying’. Over and over again she saw the blood on the pavement, she heard the gunshots ring out. Truthfully, she didn’t care about her ‘parents’, they were locked up and definitely not a part of her life anymore. But the memory, the trauma, it still haunted her.

Mycroft shifted in his seat, carefully and cautiously taking Lucy’s hand in his own again. He didn’t realise it would affect her so much, and he mentally kicked himself for not warning her. He felt her flinch under his touch and she turned to look at him. Mycroft could see the hurt and pain in her young eyes. He saw how the memories still tormented her. And while he may be the ice man to most people, to his family he cared unconditionally. His thumb rubbed circles on the back of Lucy’s hand, in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. The contact seemed to help calm her a little, so he held her hand, trying to comfort her throughout the rest of the performance.

By the end of the musical, Lucy felt mostly okay again. They all stood up to applaud the actors. It was safe to say that the Holmes parents thoroughly enjoyed themselves; Wanda kept talking about all her favourite songs and how stunning it was as they approached the black car waiting for them. They ended up in a fancy restaurant and were once again led to a booth. This time, Lucy sat next to Mycroft, and Wanda and Tim sat opposite them. The teenager was a little sad that Sherlock wasn’t going to be joining them, but she was just glad to be with people she loved and cared about. Mycroft ordered them wine, but Lucy asked for a glass of water instead. She was already feeling very dizzy and lightheaded and didn’t want the alcohol to make her worse. Although she wasn’t feeling particularly hungry, she ordered a grilled chicken salad. It didn’t escape her notice that Mycroft seemed to look constantly worried for her. Obviously, it made her feel guilty that he kept worrying, but she was trying her best and didn’t know what else to do to relieve everyone’s concern.

“Did Sherlock ever tell you about how he and Mycroft always played pirates when they were children?” Wanda asked Lucy.

“No,” She laughed in surprise, “I don’t know a lot about their childhood.”

“Sherlock was always pretending to be a pirate, he had a little sword that he would always swish about.” Tim smiled fondly at the memory.

“Myc only played pirates to keep Sherlock happy.” Wanda said, “I think every night for about a year when they were kids, Sherlock forced him to tell pirate stories at bed time.”

“That’s more than enough information,” Mycroft mumbled, glaring daggers whenever he was called Myc. He looked so relieved when the waiter came over with their food.

“Did I mention the time that Myc found my makeup?” Wanda started.

“Mother!” Mycroft huffed, putting his face in his hands.

“Aww is the British Government embarrassed?” Lucy asked jokingly. He glared at her.

“I could send you far away.” He threatened half-heartedly.

“I’d like to see him try,” Wanda muttered to Lucy.

“I’m sure we always end up arguing or being threatened whenever we see the boys.” Tim sighed, but his eyes twinkled happily.

They ate their food and continued with their light-hearted conversation. Wanda and Tim were saying how they would be going shopping in London the next day before they all met up again for dinner, they would be leaving the morning after so Sherlock would be forced to socialise the next night again. Lucy was sad that they would be leaving so soon, she had become to enjoy the Holmes parent’s company. It felt like her own little family. But Wanda insisted that they must all go around to their home for a big family roast soon, which put a smile on Lucy’s face and a grimace on Mycroft’s.

However, Lucy was starting to become increasingly frustrated with the way she could see Mycroft check on how much she was eating. Occasionally, she would catch him in the corner of her eye, observing how much she was eating and how long it was taking her to eat. It made her want to shout out in annoyance. But then again, she seemed to be struggling with her temper more and more recently. It was becoming harder to control the impulsive outbursts to defend herself. Instead, she ploughed on and managed to finish all of the salad. She felt bloated and sick. Glancing over at Mycroft, she raised her eyebrows to prove a point, he merely smiled at her. It angered her but she was not going to make a scene in front of Wanda and Tim.

After the meal, Wanda and Tim bid goodbye to them both. Lucy grinned as she could hear Wanda humming one of the songs from Les Miserable as they got into one of Mycroft’s usual cars.

“Shall we?” Mycroft gestured to the other car. Lucy looked at him and saw his expression was cautious and calculating. He looked uncharacteristically unsure. And for a government official like Mycroft to be uncertain, was rather odd. The man hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with not knowing what Lucy would say or do. He knew he had annoyed her.

“I think I will walk for a bit.” Lucy said with no emotion as she turned away from him and walked aimlessly into the darkened streets of London. Of course, she wasn’t alone as she heard Mycroft immediately sigh and follow her. They walked in silence for several minutes, the quiet allowed the teenager to calm down. She could hear the tap of Mycroft’s umbrella as he occasionally used it like a walking stick. He walked behind her, trying to give her some space. They reached a bridge when Lucy abruptly stopped. She turned to lean against the safety railing, looking out into the expanse of inky blackness. The river below was mostly still, apart from the odd ripple. It was, after all, a calm night for London, even though the usual nightly traffic still brought some sound to the quiet night. She could tell that Mycroft had paused behind her, clearly deciding what to do before copying her and watching the water beneath them.

“I annoyed you.” He finally broke the silence with the painfully obvious comment.

“It’s been a nice night,” Lucy decided to say instead. “The show was amazing.” She laughed to herself a little, allowing herself to feel the rare feeling of happiness. Mycroft had pursed his lips; she had thrown him off of whatever speech he had prepared and he did not know what to say. “I like your parents. So much.” Lucy continued. “It feels like I have a family.”

“You do have a family.” Mycroft murmured.

“Do I?”

“Of course,” he was frowning, looking at her face. She smiled without humour.

“It’s all I’ve wanted for ages.” Lucy sighed. “And yet I still feel…” She shook her head, unsure how to finish.

“It’s okay to feel as you do. You’ve been through a lot.”

“I wish everyone would stop making excuses for the way I feel.” She snapped, but her voice turned quiet again. “Because I should not be feeling this way. I should not be feeling the need to tear my skin open. I should not feel the need to hurt myself in any way possible. I have a good life.”

“Just because you have a good life doesn’t make your feelings invalid. It may take a while before you feel happy.”

“Why are you suddenly master of emotions?” Lucy smirked. Mycroft huffed out a laugh, oddly similar to Sherlock’s.

“I understand more than you realise.” Was all he said.

“How cryptic.” Lucy muttered.

“Lucy,” Mycroft started slowly, thinking through what to say. “You have a family now who will do anything to protect and look after you. It takes time to feel better both mentally and physically after a great trauma. You need to give yourself some time. Time to grieve and have bad days. Time to realise that you do and will have more good days. You need to talk to Sherlock more. He understands.”

“I’m scared to talk to him again.” Lucy shook her head. “It’s why I like being with you so much.” She saw his puzzled face and elaborated, “Sherlock pretended to be dead for over a year. John was distant for ages afterwards and he has Mary now. If I’m honest, the only really constant people in my life lately have been you and Greg.”

“You need to trust Sherlock.” Mycroft said after a pause. Lucy just nodded. She started to walk again. This time, Mycroft hesitated before following her, knowing better than to leave her alone. Eventually, they found a bench to sit on, watching the London traffic pass through the streets.

“You need to stop checking up on me.” Lucy finally got to the point.

“I can’t do that.” Mycroft said.

“Both you and Sherlock are doing it and it’s driving me mad.” She crossed her arms, feeling the chill of the night air.

“And you are getting worse.” Mycroft pointed out gently. “You forget, I know a dangerous addiction when I see one. I’ve spent many danger nights with Sherlock before and neither of us want you going through anything like that.”

“I’m not a drug addict.”

“But you’re still addicted to self destruction.” Mycroft looked at her, his words shutting her up. “For goodness sake Lucy we aren’t idiots. We know what is going on. We know you need serious help soon. And if it gets much worse then both Sherlock and I will do something.” He sighed, controlling the frustration in his voice. “I don’t want to see you spiral out of control. Please, you need to try hard to get better on your own since you’re so against professional help. Obviously, we will do anything we can but your own recovery is in your hands.”

“I understand.” Lucy said bitterly. Mycroft hated to have said it and he knew she hated to hear it, but it had to be said before things got worse. There was a

pause. “I’m sorry Mycroft.”

“Don’t apologise.” He smiled.

Eventually, the two of them got into the black car that was waiting for them. Lucy hugged Mycroft when they got to Baker Street. She rested her head on his chest and felt him kiss the top of her head, an affectionate gesture that was rare to see from the man. She headed up to see Sherlock sat in his chair, clearly bored out of his mind.

“Hey,” She instantly went over and hugged him. He grunted in surprise but returned the hug.

“Did the theatre make you go all soft?” He muttered.

“Shut up,” She poked him. “It was good actually.”

“Mycroft didn’t like it.” He said.

“How do you know that?” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t tell me you worked it out from the crease on the sleeve of my shirt?” He snorted in amusement.

“No, he called me during the break and asked me to come and take over.” Sherlock laughed, causing Lucy to giggle.

There was a peaceful silence as Lucy made them both a cup of tea. It was a mission trying to find safe equipment to use in the hazardous kitchen that was slowly becoming more of a science laboratory by the day.

“Why were you gone for so long?” Sherlock asked.

“Oh, me and Mycroft ended up having a long chat.”

“How dull.” He huffed and took his tea. “What a day you’ve had. The theatre, dinner with my family and a chat with Mycroft. Sounds like hell.”

“It was nice.” She smiled.

“You prefer my brother.” He said nonchalantly.

“Jealous again.” Lucy smirked. Sherlock just wrinkled his nose in annoyance and distaste. She rolled her eyes, “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation, but I do not favour either of you.”

“Why not? Surely I’m better!” He looked hurt.

“I can’t pick favourites,” She laughed. “Honestly Sherlock, I’ve just been talking about personal stuff with Mycroft. It’s taken a while to realise that he understands me more than I realised.” This clearly did not comfort Sherlock any more. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ve really missed you.” This elicited a self-satisfied smirk from the detective.

“Good because I need your help.” He jumped up and began pacing. “I need help organising a bachelor party for John.”

“Oh he asked you to be best man finally?”

“Yes he took me by surprise actually. Wait! You already knew?” He narrowed his eyes.

“It was obvious he’d choose you.” Lucy laughed. “Is that why there is a tea soaked eyeball? He took you by surprise.”

“You don’t want to know.” He grinned.

“Well then, hit me with your plans!”

 


	59. Chapter 59

It was quite safe to say that Sherlock had the most ridiculous ideas as to what makes a good bachelor party. He had already discussed some plans with Molly but he was moaning because she didn’t seem to think they were brilliant ideas. He gave his initial plans straight away when Lucy had gotten back from her night out, but it wasn’t until morning the next day that he went into detail.

“I think it makes for the perfect night.” His nose was up in the air, giving off a sense of self-righteousness.

“Do you really think John wants to go on a pub crawl to places where there were murders?” Lucy asked seriously as they sat by the desk.

“Yes.” Sherlock replied bluntly. If she didn’t know him better, Lucy would be sure he deadpanned, but there was no humour to this. His gaze was serious.

“And you plan to measure his exact alcohol intake?”

“Of course.”

“I can’t even be bothered to ask why,” Lucy sighed. By this point there was no hope for poor John. Moving swiftly away from what Sherlock was already dead set on she asked: “Who else is going to go?”

“What do you mean who else?” Sherlock looked confused.

“Well surely John would want some of his other friends to come,” Lucy replied, resisting the overwhelming urge to roll her eyes and strangle Sherlock. She loved him but for goodness sake he was clueless sometimes. Upon seeing Sherlock’s face, she continued: “Why don’t you invite people like Greg and Mike Stamford?”

“Greg?” Sherlock was lost.

“You know who he is!” She almost screamed in frustration. “Lestrade!”

“Oh,” His face wasn’t amused. “I suppose I could…” He clearly didn’t want to.

“This isn’t about you Sherlock, this is about John.” She reminded him.

“Fine I’ll ask Lestrade if he can come after his shift.” He wrinkled his nose.

They spent much longer discussing plans but Lucy could barely get a word in edgeways. Sherlock was already set on exactly what would happen, how much they would drink at each pub before Greg and maybe some others would join them. He had already calculated what times they would arrive and leave each pub and at what times they would need to go to the toilet. It was quite frankly scary how precise Sherlock was. It was obsessive. He was clearly nervous about John getting married, not that he would ever admit it.

Lucy had tried to tell him that he really didn’t have to have everything planned out so meticulously. That they could drink what they fancied at the time and how much they fancied. But she soon gave up when it became obvious that Sherlock was not open to changing anything. She wasn’t quite sure why he had requested her help if he already knew everything he was going to do. She guessed he just wanted some company.

Sherlock was clearly frustrated and itching for a case. A good case. Lestrade had come to him but with nothing of much interest. He could have taken the easier ones, but it seemed as though he needed something bigger to distract him. Perhaps a nice serial killer?

“Your parents want us all over sometime for a big family roast.” She had ended up changing the subject from John’s wedding after bringing the detective a cup of tea. He grimaced and wrinkled his face up in absolute disgust.

“How wonderful.” He grumbled.

“It will be nice.”

“No.” He looked moody.

“Right Sherlock what do you want to do?” Lucy huffed in anger. “You’re being stroppy.”

“I am not!” He pouted. He took a gulp of tea. “Lestrade said he had a murder but it sounded boring. Just a dead maid.”

“Oh just a dead maid,” The teenager muttered sarcastically. “Well let’s go help because it’s better than you being shut up in here.”

Shortly after, they found themselves in the back of a cab driving to a posher area of London to gate-crash Lestrade’s crime scene- because of course Sherlock couldn’t be bothered to let him know they were coming. When they arrived at the house, they could see the back entrance that led to the garden was cordoned off by police tape. Being Sherlock, he just lifted it up and went under it with Lucy trailing behind.

Lestrade was looking at the body on the ground while barking orders to some of his team. Everyone instantly noticed Sherlock’s arrival and almost everyone rolled their eyes.

“So much for not coming.” Lestrade grumbled as they approached. “You can’t just turn up unannounced Sherlock!”

“You need my help now shush.” Sherlock instantly went to work looking at the maid who was unceremoniously sprawled on her front just inches away from the back door to the house.

“Hey,” Lucy greeted Greg, laughing.

“Hey kiddo,” He grinned.

“I pestered him to come. He was becoming unbearable just moping around at home.” She sighed.

“I don’t blame you, we need a babysitter for him really.” Greg smirked.

“Oh this is easy you idiots!” Sherlock yelled. “Even Lucy can solve this faster than you lot.”

“I wouldn’t say that Sherlock,” Lucy raised her eyebrows. He motioned for her to get closer to the body.

“Look at the wound.” He instructed.

“A stab wound right to her left side, probably pierced her heart and definitely her lung.” Lucy said, “Looks like whoever attacked her came from behind as I can’t see any other wounds.”

“Which means…” Sherlock prompted.

“That whoever stabbed her did so from inside the house as the maid was walking outside. So, they had access to the house, otherwise surely the maid would have turned at someone unfamiliar?”

“Good. Everyone was home. The man and woman of the house are at the yard.”

“So it was either the husband or the wife?”

“Yes.” Sherlock had a small smile.

“Well there wasn’t much of a scuffle at all so it was sudden, almost spur of the moment. But I feel there was a reason. I feel as though this was a killing out of sudden anger.”

“Why?”

“Well they haven’t exactly thought the murder through have they?” Lucy said with a smile, “This woman was stabbed and left in the garden for everyone to see, if this wasn’t spur of the moment it would have been thought out more carefully so they would have known to hide the body and to not leave the murder weapon right by the victim. Clearly they were shocked at their own actions as if they were behind the maid, stabbed her, they could have dropped the knife in shock which explains why it’s positioned where it is.” Lucy frowned. “Where were the homeowners and who called you?”

“The husband called, he was clearly shaken.” Lestrade answered, “They were both sat in the living room having a cup of tea when we arrived.” He shook his head, stunned.

“So it was the wife.” Lucy frowned. “You said the wife wasn’t shaken but the husband was. I’m just guessing here but perhaps the husband and maid had an affair, it came out, and the wife, in a blind rage, killed the maid?” She saw Sherlock grin and knew she was right.

“Well we don’t know that yet…” Lestrade sighed. “There isn’t enough evidence right now.”

“Just check the prints on the knife I’m sure you’ll have the killer.” Lucy said. “It is a lot of guesswork though.”

“Oh hush we know our guesswork is right,” Sherlock waved his hand, too self-confident.

“Well we will get on straight away interviewing the couple and getting prints.” Lestrade said, but he grinned lopsidedly, “That was pretty good though Lucy… if you are right.”

“Thanks, let’s hope I am.” She laughed.

“I never get complimented,” Sherlock grumbled almost inaudibly. But he straightened his coat and announced: “Well this was easy and mind-numbingly boring let me know when there is something fun.” He started walking out of the garden.

“I would apologise for him but I’m sure you’re all painfully used to it by now,” Lucy sighed, rubbing her eyes.

“Well thanks for your help,” Lestrade smiled. Lucy hugged him briefly before running off after Sherlock who had already hailed a cab and was impatiently waiting.

The rest of the day was filled with clients coming in and out of the flat. Lucy had taken to ignoring most of it all and simply drawing instead. Sherlock was becoming incredibly rude and snappy so she just tried to stay out of his way and let the clients take the full force of his wrath. According to Sherlock, all of their issues were boring, boring, boring!

It was safe to say that he had no cases by the end of the day. He had rejected everyone. By this point, Lucy didn’t know what to do. He was mixing all sorts of dangerous chemicals in the kitchen and she was getting scared that it would blow up soon. She texted John:

Can you get Sherlock a case or something because I’m scared he’s going to destroy everything!

She waited a bit for his reply:

Give me half an hour and I will be round to save Baker Street!

Lucy breathed a sigh of relief. As soon as John had arrived, he had shouted at Sherlock.

“Grow up, stop being a stroppy toddler and clean this god damn mess up!” John was livid.

“But John I’m bored!” Sherlock yelled back.

“I don’t care!” John growled. His glare at Sherlock was enough to make the consulting detective reluctantly start to clear up the kitchen a little. John sighed before returning to where Lucy sat in the living room.

“I’m sorry I asked you to come over but I didn’t know what to do.” Lucy murmured.

“Hey now, don’t apologise,” He smiled warmly, pulling her into a tight hug. “He’s just being a nightmare and it’s unfair for you to have to try and play mummy to him.” Lucy laughed a little.

“Where’s Mary?” She asked.

“Oh, she wasn’t feeling very well earlier so she’s resting at home.” He replied. “Truthfully, she’s probably exhausted with all this wedding planning, but I think we’ve got it all sorted.” John’s smile was wide, and Lucy wasn’t sure if she had seen him look so happy and in love before. It was heart-warming.

After ensuring that Sherlock had tidied properly and was going to at least try and behave himself, John left the duo alone, but not before ordering Sherlock to make dinner for once. Sherlock had rolled his eyes, and lumped down onto his chair.

“I’m not expecting you to cook, don’t worry,” Lucy muttered as she flicked through the tv channels. Sherlock Holmes just grunted.

“What do you want from the Chinese?” He asked after a pause. Sherlock was never one to eat a whole lot of food, but it was painfully obvious that he was eating more than usual to try and make Lucy eat more.

“I’m really not that hungry.” Lucy automatically said. But she winced, knowing that it wasn’t the right thing to say at all. Considering she hadn’t eaten all day and had only had tea to drink, she knew he would make her eat dinner. He was clearly monitoring her intake.

“What do you want from the Chinese?” Sherlock repeated, trying to be patient.

“Err,” Lucy felt panicked. “Just chicken Chow Mein then please.” Sherlock looked at her for a moment, but it seemed to satisfy him and he set about ordering the food.

They sat in the living room to eat. The kitchen wasn’t completely clear from being a nuclear waste site, so it was more sensible to sit on the sofa and watch crap telly. Lucy looked down at her container of chicken chow mein. Sherlock had ordered her a small portion so that it was more of a manageable size for her to eat, but it still looked far too big. He was already scoffing down his rice and some kind of chicken in sauce, while simultaneously yelling at everyone on the tv. The teenager wasn’t under a completely watchful eye, for which she was very grateful. There felt like a little less pressure on her.

She slowly wrapped some noodles on her fork and chewed. The taste was slightly salty and she grimaced as she went down her throat. It was strange. Just a few years ago she would eat portion after portion of chow mein, rice and chicken; but now she was struggling with a tiny mouthful. A huge part of her wanted to throw the container down in anger and storm out, refusing to eat. But there was a voice inside her, reminding her of what Mycroft had said. It was down to her to help herself at the moment. She knew it was, she knew that she was the only person who could truly help herself. But it was hard. For Sherlock, and for Mycroft she reluctantly started to make her way through small mouthfuls of beansprouts, peppers, noodles and some chicken.

She was so proud of herself when she had eaten over half of it. And from Sherlock’s sneaky side wards glance, and resulting soft smile, he was proud of her too.

At that point, she paused. Her stomach was churning uncomfortably. The teenager put the container on the table and leaned over slightly. Her arms wrapped around her own body and she slowly breathed, trying to calm the rising anxiety. The need to make herself sick was once again all that was on her mind. She felt gross, she felt disgusting and the pressure in her stomach from the food made her want to rid her body of all of it. But she didn’t want to disappoint Sherlock. She seemed to be forever stuck in this limbo and conflicting thoughts and emotions. It was mentally draining her. She tried to remember how Mycroft helped her from her panic attack before, she tried to remember the breathing pattern he did with her. It wasn’t coming to her mind. All she could think about was how she couldn’t control her breathing. How she felt sick from all the food. How she felt her heart palpitate and her palms become sweaty.    

“What’s wrong?” Sherlock immediately noticed a difference, he placed his hand on her back. A second went past. “Breathe with me.” He softly instructed, knowing that her anxiety was slowly taking over. Sherlock gave her space but started to deliberately breathe in slowly, hold for a couple of seconds before slowly breathing back out. Lucy turned to face him slightly, watching him. After a moment, she copied him, trying to mimic his breathing. It took several minutes- as it had done with Mycroft- but eventually, she felt calm again.

“Thank you.” She murmured, her voice quiet and slightly embarrassed.

“No problem,” His voice was gentle.

“How did you know what to do?” Lucy asked. Sherlock paused for a moment.

“I remember Mycroft helping me before, they aren’t very clear memories, but I always remember how he helped me through panic attacks.” Sherlock said.

“He did that with me before as well.” Lucy ran a hand over her face, feeing exhausted from the anxiety.

“Of course he’s still annoying and unbearable.” Sherlock quickly mentioned, causing Lucy to laugh.

Sherlock didn’t make her eat any more of her food, she had eaten quite a lot of them and it was just a matter of taking baby steps for now. Of course, he was concerned when she went to bed early, but there was nothing he could do other than wait. He was sat thinking when his phone started vibrating. Glancing at who was calling he was tempted to not answer. But he sighed.

“What?” He asked, answering the phone.

“Hello brother dear,” Mycroft replied. “I’m only calling to inquire as to how Lucy is doing today. She wasn’t in the best of… ways yesterday.” Sherlock sighed.

“She had a panic attack after eating a little over half a container of chicken chow mein.” Sherlock cut right to the chase. “I had to help her through it. I don’t know what to do and it’s frustrating.”

“She isn’t a case you can solve, Sherlock.” Mycroft reminded him, his voice sharp. “I doubt not many know what to do in this situation.”

“I don’t know if I can help her.” Sherlock growled. “Why are you better at this than I am? I hate it.” It was rare he would admit his brother was better, but in this kind of situation, Sherlock felt completely defeated.

“I always tried to help you through your problems, Sherlock, and you and Lucy aren’t that different. Different situations, yes, but at the end of the day you both have addictions.”

“This is infuriating.” Sherlock huffed. “Piss off Mycroft.”

“Do you need me to come over at all?”

“No, piss off, didn’t you hear me?” Sherlock snapped.

“Sherlock, you can’t think of yourself all the time. Lucy needs stability and help.” Mycroft growled back.

“And you shouldn’t be talking about her like she’s a pet.”

“I’m not, I’m just facing the facts.” His brother’s voice was annoyingly calm again. “All I’m saying Sherlock, is if you need me to help then I will. Now stop being so selfish.” There was silence.

“Fine.” Sherlock hung up on him.

The consulting detective went to his skull on the mantelpiece and lifted it up, revealing a pack of cigarettes. Feeling defeated, incredibly pissed off and having no clue what to do for the best without admitting he needed Mycroft’s help, he lit up a cigarette.

He inhaled deeply, letting the smoke fill his lungs and sighed in relief.

He stopped.

He glared at the cigarette.

Goddamn his brother was right.

Fucking addictions.

 


End file.
